“Look here, Carson,” said the stranger affably. “I’ve been thinking this thing over. McQuade used to be an old friend of mine, and I hate to think of his widow and son being left out in the cold. I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll set two thousand dollars against that mortgage you hold. “If you win, the money’s yours. If the Clippers are beaten, then I get the mortgage. How does that sound?” “No good,” stated Carson firmly. “The McQuade place is worth a heap more’n that sum, Smith. I got that mortgage cheap.” The stranger looked disappointed. “Well,” he remarked, replacing the bill book which he had taken from his inner pocket, “I don’t know that I’m very anxious to bet against the Clippers, anyway. I’d risk the sum for the sake of McQuade’s family, out of pure sentiment, but---- Well, I’ll hang about town and see if I can’t get a bit of money down on your team. After all, it’s safer.” He rose, with a gesture of dismissal to the constable. “Hold on!” cried Colonel Carson. “You ain’t in earnest, Smith?” “Why, of course!” said the stranger. “Merriwell’s team is untried and green. After all, I might be foolish----” “Set down, set down,” and the colonel reached out to his safe. “I’ve got that mortgage right here. I reckon I’ll take a chance, Smith.” And once more he grinned to himself. CHAPTER X. HOW THE GAME OPENED. Carsonville was emptying itself. Every person in town, young and old, was a baseball enthusiast. The grand stand and bleachers of the club grounds were invariably crowded every Saturday. But on this one Saturday it seemed as though the town had gone crazy over the game. So, after a fashion, it had. Despite its support of the Clippers, Carsonville turned out to see baseball, rather than to see the Clippers play. It loved the game for itself. Down underneath the surface, however, it cherished a warm dislike for the Clippers and their captain. This dislike had been, perforce, hidden, for fear of antagonizing the autocrat of Carsonville. When the home team had been playing, all personalities had been forgotten in the game itself. On such occasions, even Bully Carson had become popular for the moment, if he won a game. It was quite different on this Saturday, however. The Carsons had been defied, and when the crowd had streamed into the park, it forgot all about its fear of Colonel Carson’s power. “I hope them Clippers get trounced! I hope Bully Carson gets knocked out of the box!” cried old Abner Powell, on whose forty acres the colonel held a heavy mortgage. “So do I! Hurray for the Clippings!” yelled the teller of the Carsonville bank. “Here’s where the colonel gets took down!” shouted the Carsons’ hired man. Every one had forgotten their fears, under the magic influence of the ball park. And every one had raised the price of a seat. By general consent, it was the largest crowd that the Carsonville park had ever held.