“Oh, yes, I’ll lay some bets!” he chuckled again evilly. “But it’ll be on Franklin, all right! I guess you’re goin’ to get a pretty bad lickin’, nephew--but business is business. I see where I get revenge on that cussed Merriwell kid!” CHAPTER XVII. A NIGHT ATTACK. “There’s nothing like being square, fellows. You can’t beat it, I don’t care what any one says. It’s not so much whether you win or lose, it’s simply that you feel square inside. That’s what Davy Crockett meant when he said: ‘Be sure you’re right, then go ahead!’ Davy didn’t care a snap about dying--he knew he was right, and he won out!” “Lecture on history by Frank Merriwell, senior,” laughed Chip. His father smiled as he watched the lights of the train flashing up the valley. “It’s a fact,” he went on, turning to Chip and Billy McQuade and Clancy, who had accompanied him to the train. “I’m not preaching, and you know it.” “But Davy Crockett died in the Alamo,” interjected Clancy doubtfully. “Sure,” flashed back Frank Merriwell, senior. “That’s why he won, that’s why he’ll live forever, Clancy. He knew he was right--get that? Defeat is no sign of failure, not a bit of it. This Colonel Carson, of Carsonville, has been winning consistently until you fellows turned the trick on him. Now he’s started in to reap the whirlwind.” “He reaped it, all right, when Chip pitched to-day,” said Billy Mac. “He reaped a few double shoots he didn’t expect--or, rather, the Clippers did.” “You’ve got the idea,” said Merriwell, as the train pulled in. “Well, so long for the present, everybody. Good luck to you on Monday, Frank! I’ll try to run down from Bloomfield to see that game, but I can’t promise. I’ve got some important affairs on with Dick--you’ll learn about them later.” He handed his grip to the porter and sprang up the steps. The eleven-o’clock express was already late, and there was only time for a last wave of the hand before the train began to move, then drew away into the night. “I wish you fellows wouldn’t go to the hotel,” said Billy, as the three friends started toward town. “We’ve all kinds of room at home.” Chip flung his arm over the other’s shoulder, smiling. “Cheer up, Billy! Clan and I haven’t had much chance to get together since he came home from the West, you know. We’ll have an old-time gabfest, and will get acquainted again before we come up to the house to-morrow. By gracious, these streets are dark!” “I’m sorry now we didn’t come down in the _Hornet_,” said Clancy regretfully. “We could have piled into her somehow.” Late Saturday night in Carsonville was, indeed, a dark time, especially for the Carsonville Clippers! * * * * * Quite naturally, Colonel Carson and his son had not taken their beating with a good grace. Bully Carson was an excellent pitcher, but so far did Chip outclass him, that he and his father were furious over the disgrace of being beaten by a pick-up nine from their own home town.