“That’s right, Chip. Do you honestly think we’ve got a show?” “I do,” replied Frank earnestly. “Our fellows are fine on base-throwing, and when they get to work on a decent diamond, the results will be astonishing. I really think we’ve an excellent chance, old man.” “Then that takes a load off my mind,” said Billy, with a sigh. “I thought you’d be pretty disgusted with us.” Frank smiled and patted him on the back cheeringly. But in his heart he felt that, while the Clippings might have a chance, it was a terribly slim one. CHAPTER IX. COLONEL CARSON MAKES A BET. On Friday morning, the day before the game, Colonel Carson was standing in the lobby of the Carsonville Bank. He appeared extremely discontented. “Not a one,” he said disgustedly. “Everybody in town is scared to bet on them Clippings.” “I don’t wonder,” sneered Bully Carson derisively. “They’re a bunch of pick-ups.” Bully Carson wore his most flamboyant attire, for he would not go to work-out with the Clippers for another hour. From one corner of his mouth drooped a limp cigarette. “Too bad you can’t place a few dollars,” he went on. “It’d be easy money.” “Is your arm all right?” inquired the colonel. “Never better. Hello, who’s that gink?” The two turned to gaze at the doorway. The bank had just been opened for business, and, as things were not very brisk in Carsonville, this was the first customer of the day. And he was evidently a stranger. “Must ’a’ come in on the mornin’ train,” observed Bully. He was a well-set-up, quietly dressed man, and would have attracted little attention save for his remarkably fine build. A soft crush hat was pulled down over a pair of very keen but pleasant eyes, and the lower portion of his face was hidden by a curly dark beard. The stranger gave a single glance at the two, and walked to the teller’s window. With a nod and a cheery “Good morning,” he drew out a long bill book and opened it. Colonel Carson gasped and clutched at his son’s shoulder, for the bill book appeared to be crammed with yellowbacks. “I have a couple of certified checks I’d like you to cash for me, if you will.” His voice was quiet and self-restrained. “Certainly, sir,” replied the teller. The stranger shoved the two checks he had taken out through the window. The teller glanced at them, and his jaw fell. He excused himself, then beckoned to Colonel Carson to come over. “These are pretty large checks, colonel,” he said apologetically. “Humph!” grunted Carson, and turned to the stranger. “Made out to John Smith! Is that your name?” “Aren’t those checks sufficient warrant?” smiled the stranger. “They’re certified, and ought to be as good as gold, Colonel Carson.” “You know me?” The bank owner looked surprised. “I’ve heard of you,” returned John Smith pleasantly. “You see, I’m quite a follower of baseball, though I don’t often get away from home. I’ve heard a good deal of the Carsonville Clippers, and came over to have a look at them.”