Bully reeled off this astonishing lie with assurance. His father examined the black eye with commiseration and rage. “My poor boy! We’ll make that fellow rue the day he ever came to Carsonville, son! So you were going away, eh?” “Yes. I reckon I’ll lay over in Orton fer a few days.” Orton was a small town fifteen miles from Carsonville, a mere country village, where it would be easy to remain and pass over the injury with any excuse. Colonel Carson nodded thoughtfully. “That’s not so bad, son. I dunno’s it won’t fit in pretty well, too.” Bully looked up suddenly. “Thought you was goin’ to stay over in Fardale? You must ’a’ done some tall hustling to get back on that late train! Did you see Randall?” “Yes,” and Colonel Carson’s hard face darkened suddenly. “He’s no good the way we thought, Bully. He won’t throw the game.” “Huh? Why not?” “I didn’t get down to reasons--didn’t have to. He’s one o’ these here goody-goody fellows who believe in sport for sport’s sake, prob’ly. Anyway, he shied when I mentioned it, so I changed my plans around a bit.” “You’re a wonder!” and Bully chuckled suddenly, in unholy admiration. “You got the slickest brain I ever did see! What’s the idea now?” “Well,” and Colonel Carson sank wearily into a chair, “you know that I want to get down some bets on this Fardale-Franklin game, Bully. The only thing is how to know which team will win, d’you see?” “Sure--even with this eye,” said Bully, with a grin. “Go on.” “The Franklin pitcher is a wonder, but they don’t know it at Fardale. Randall thinks he can win easily, if he pitches. And he’ll pitch if Merriwell doesn’t show up, that’s certain. So if Randall pitches, it’s a dead sure thing that Franklin wins the game.” “And if Merriwell pitches----” “Then it’s not so sure. But listen here, Bully! Randall put me wise to something, something that made me alter my plans. We want to get back at Merriwell, at both of ’em, father and son. The father will get hit if Fardale loses, and the kid gets hit if he don’t pitch.” “How so?” “’Cause whoever pitches that game gets ’lected captain o’ the Fardale team. I don’t understand it all, but that’s how she lays. If Randall pitches, Merriwell loses out all around, d’you see?” “And if he pitched, then he’d get the ’lection?” “That’s it, Bully.” The son grimaced, as he knotted a yellow-purple necktie about his neck. “Then he can pitch, fer all o’ me. By thunder, I know when I got enough, pop. If you can figger out any way----” “Hold on, son, hold on!” and Colonel Carson tugged at his goatee, smiling craftily. “You ain’t never seen the old man lose out very long, have you? He ain’t a-goin’ to this time, either. Merriwell ain’t goin’ to pitch that game, see?” “How you goin’ to keep him out?” “That depends. Where is he now?” “Gettin’ the constable to arrest me, mebbe,” returned Bully easily. “I lost my hat, and he slung it away after seein’ whose it was. Ironton is watchin’ to see where he goes fer the night.”