While Dick and Ray were talking with Blackington, Buckhart had walked into the Corndike quite unobserved and taken a seat in the office near an open window at the front of the hotel. He was still puzzling over his own condition and seemed quite unaware that his friends and the excursionists proceeded to the steamer without noticing he was missing. For at least thirty minutes the Texan sat in a big chair by the open window. Finally he shook himself a little and started to get up. As he did so he glanced through the window and saw Tom Fernald standing just outside. The look on Fernald’s face was one of bitter disappointment. “He’s some sore,” thought Brad. “I opine he lost a dollar or two to-day.” A slender young chap approached Fernald and spoke to him. This slender fellow the Texan recognized as Pete Knox, head waiter at the Corndike. “I need that money now,” said Knox, in a low tone, “and I need it mighty bad, too.” Fernald frowned. “You’ll have to wait,” he retorted. “I can’t pay you.” “But you promised it to me right after the game. I’ve been discharged here.” “Discharged?” “Yes.” “Why? How’s that?” “I don’t know. I was fired this afternoon, and I’m out of a job. Haven’t a dollar, either. So you see the twenty-five you agreed to pay me will come in handy.” “You’re no worse off than I am,” said Fernald. “I am broke. Lost my good money on this beastly ball game.” “That wasn’t my fault,” said Knox. “I thought you were sure of winning if you could get that stuff into the Fairhaven catcher.” Buckhart grasped the arms of his chair and every muscle grew tense. “I should have won,” growled Fernald. “That ragged bummer upset my calculations. He’s as good a catcher as Buckhart—or better.” “You can’t blame me if your game miscarried,” said Knox. “I followed directions, and I saw Buckhart drink the water, which I brought him myself. I want my money now. I can’t help how much you lost, you’ll settle with me.” “And you’ll both settle with me!” roared the Texan, as he leaped like a panther through the open window and lighted on the sidewalk outside. “Here’s one for you!” Saying which he struck Knox a blow that sent the fellow spinning, wheeling instantly on Fernald, who seemed electrified by the occurrence. “Had me drugged, did you?” snarled the Westerner. “You get yours next!” Fernald was not exactly a weak man, but his astonishment prevented him from meeting the assault of the enraged boy. Brad’s hard fist landed on the man’s chin and sent him backward a step. The Texan would have followed up this blow with another, but at that juncture Dick and Ray Garrett came round the corner, having returned from the steamer. Merriwell seized his excited friend by the wrist and held him, while Garrett promptly stepped between the man and boy. “Let go, pard—let go!” grated the Texan. “Let me smash that cur!” “Where are the police?” exclaimed Fernald. “I’ll have him arrested!” “You’re crazy, Brad!” said Dick. “What ails you?”