McCarthy did not see the joke. He advanced to take his turn at batting, and, when Frank handed him a stiff inshoot, he fell on it and knocked the ball through Chub’s hands. Then Merry began teasing him, but he refused to bite, until he caught one on the nose and lined it out. “Wow? Mebbe that’ll show him what Dan McCarthy can do!” he yelled, as the ball zipped. When he discovered that he had been victimized, he turned on Chub. “You blamed little yapper!” he said. “You’d be a whole lot s’prised to find that he _was_ a big-league scout, wouldn’t you?” “Yah!” piped Chub jubilantly. “L-l-line her out again, Dan!” The stranger hung around for an hour, speaking to no one, but watching the practice intently. Finally he drifted off in the direction of town. Once back in the town, he began inquiries as to Colonel Carson’s whereabouts. That individual was not hard to find. In fact, he was on a still hunt for the stranger, and finally encountered him near the bank. “Well, Mr. Smith, how’d the two teams strike you?” “The Clippers didn’t look up to much, to my mind,” said the stranger easily. “Of course, I may be mistaken, but Merriwell’s crowd seemed to be pretty good. Why, one of those fellows lammed the ball a mile, Carson!” “Yes,” and Colonel Carson fingered his goatee, “them fellers can hit, Smith. Placed any bets yet?” “Well, no,” replied the stranger. “I rather thought I might induce you to put up a little money.” “I ain’t very flush right now,” said the colonel cunningly. It was not the first time that he and Bully had worked together to good advantage. “Still, I dunno as I’d mind placin’ a little on the Clippers, seeing’s they belong to me.” “Ah, you’re a true sport!” cried Smith heartily. “Oh, by the way--I have some friends here by the name of McQuade. Perhaps you know where Mr. McQuade lives, colonel?” “Well, yes. He lives in the cemetery, right now, Smith. He’s been dead quite a spell.” “Dead! You don’t say!” The stranger was visibly perturbed. “Poor McQuade! He never had much head for business. I suppose he died poor?” “He died owin’ me two thousand,” said Colonel Carson grimly. “I got a mortgage on his place over by the river, right in my safe. I’m goin’ to foreclose, too.” “Well, well! Did he leave any family?” “Son an’ widder,” jerked the other. “Son’s ketchin’ on Merriwell’s team.” John Smith glanced around. The town constable stood at a little distance, and the stranger pointed at him. “That’s the constable, isn’t it, Carson? Well, let’s bring him into your office, and if we can make a little bet, he could be stakeholder. Eh?” Colonel Carson grinned to himself, and agreed with some show of hesitation. With the constable following, they entered the bank and sat down in the owner’s private room.