Bully Carson swelled visibly. His father turned to the teller. “It’s all right, I guess. Two thousand is a big sum, but they’re certified. Mr. Smith, meet my son. He’s the pitcher o’ the Clippers. Goin’ to stay for the game to-morrow?” “Perhaps,” smiled John Smith. “I’ll see what the chances are for placing a few bets around here.” He winked knowingly, and Colonel Carson flung Bully a warning glance. “We got an awful tough team to go up against,” he said, tugging at his goatee. “I’d like to bet on the Clippers myself, but durned if I don’t think we’ll get beat.” Bully had caught that look. “Yes, they got a feller named Merriwell,” he said dolefully. “I dunno’s I’ll be much good against him, either.” “Oh, Merriwell! I’ve heard of him often,” exclaimed the stranger. “By Jove, I’d like to get a bet down on his team, whatever it is! I suppose I could see the two teams at work, couldn’t I?” “Sure, I’ll take care o’ you, Mr. Smith,” volunteered Bully. He went off arm in arm with the stranger, and Colonel Carson turned to his teller. “There’s an easy mark! When Bully gets through with him, he’ll be ready to put up some real coin on them Clippings, mind my words!” Colonel Carson’s confidence in his son was well placed. Indeed, Bully had no easy task, for not a soul in Carsonville had any great belief that the Clippers would be defeated the next day. The stranger went out to the park with them, and was pleasantly astonished by the concrete stands and excellent diamond. “You have quite a place here, eh,” he observed. “Go ahead, boys, don’t mind me.” The Clippers did not appear to mind him in the least. They went to work, and, after watching them a little time, the stranger was evidently well satisfied. Bully Carson seemed to have difficulty in finding the plate. His infield gave him wretched support, making wild throws, and letting the ball tear through them. His outfield did little better. On the whole, the stranger was anything but well impressed by the Clippers, and did not hesitate to say as much on the way back to town. Bully Carson agreed that they were in poor shape, but when the stranger had left him, he congratulated his team warmly. “I guess that feller’s hooked,” he observed sagely, and hastened home. After casual inquiries about town, John Smith found his way to where the team captained by Frank Merriwell, junior, was working out during the afternoon. As this was their first visitor, the Clippings displayed no little curiosity, seeing that he was a stranger to them, but he held aloof from the diamond. “Who is he--one of the umpires?” inquired Frank. “Search me,” returned Billy Mac. “He’s a new one in this burg.” “It’s a scout for the Phil-l-ladel-l-lphia Ath-l-letics,” chirruped Chub Newton from second. “He’s l-l-lookin’ for recruits.” “What’s that?” cried McCarthy excitedly, taking Chub seriously. “Sure, he’s goin’ to sign you on, Dan,” grinned Spaulding.