Consequently, the grocer’s son, who was taking Chub Newton’s place behind the counter temporarily, ran out with a bag of apples and deposited them mysteriously on the ground by the astonished Clippings. A little later, as they passed the one ice-cream parlor in the place, the proprietor appeared suddenly and thrust a paper bucket of ice cream into Spaulding’s hand, then vanished without a word. By such tokens as these, Frank and his friends soon discovered that they were not without secret good wishers, though none of the latter dared come into the open. “Talk about a scared town!” laughed Clancy, munching an apple vigorously. “Looks like your friend Carson had this place buffaloed for sure, Chip!” “Well, there’s good reason for it,” explained Spaulding. “The colonel owns the bank here, and pretty near half the farms and orchards around. If he said to smash a merchant, that merchant would be apt to smash. I know, because he’s done it before this, and he’d do it again.” “It’s a pretty poor kind of influence to hold over people,” declared Frank. “I’d hate to walk down the street and know that nine out of ten people hated me in their hearts.” “The colonel doesn’t know it. He’s got too much vanity. And he wouldn’t care very much if he did realize it, I guess.” “Somebody ought to l-l-lam him good,” piped Chub. “I’d l-l-like to see him run out of town!” “Maybe you will some day,” growled McCarthy ominously. “Don’t forget your promise,” said Frank, in a low voice. “No danger o’ that, Merriwell. I filed them spikes o’ mine, though.” “See here, Dan, I don’t want to have any of that work----” “I ain’t goin’ to start anythin’, I said,” broke in the lanky youth doggedly. “And I won’t. But I ain’t goin’ to let trouble hit me over the ear, you bet. I’ll be jest as meek as a lamb until they try dirty work on me, only I want to be ready.” Frank nodded. After all, he did not greatly blame McCarthy for distrusting the caliber of Squint Fletcher, or, for that matter, the rest of the Carsonville club. He did not believe in fighting fire with fire, but he saw that it would be useless to try argument with Dan McCarthy. So he let the matter drop, confident that the lanky third baseman would not be the first to start any “dirty work.” The general sentiment of the Clippings was that the Clippers would not stop at anything to win, but that the umpiring would be fair. “I want you to help me out, Clan,” said Frank, as he walked along beside his old chum. “These chaps are just aching for a good chance to start a scrap with the other team. They’ve all promised me that they’d go slow during the game, but I want you to get after ’em during practice.” “In what way, Chip?”