A few moments later the little man arrived at the room which had been assigned to him. He soon came over and knocked on Carson’s door, entering with a worried expression on his face. “The bolt on my door is broken,” he exclaimed. “Do you think it’ll be quite safe there, or had I better get another room?” “Oh, you’re all right,” Bully said carelessly. “Lock the door and put the key in your pocket--don’t leave it in the door, or it can be turned from outside. Then shove that wallet under your pillow, and you’re safer’n if you was locked up in a vault. It’s a cinch, old man!” “Well, I’ll take your advice,” said Hostetter, with a relieved air. “Much obliged to you, I’m sure!” Saying good night, he vanished. Bully could hear him lock his door and withdraw the key. Carson sat smoking until the room was so full of smoke that he was forced to open the window, much against his will. A thousand dollars in cash! The words seemed to burn into his brain. He walked up and down, trying to fling off the black thoughts that filled him, but finally he paused and brought down one fist on the table. “I’ll do it!” At that instant there came a soft knock at the door. Bully started, and swung around. The door opened. “Oh, it’s you!” he cried, and laughed a little. “Come in, Bob. I was waiting for you.” CHAPTER XXX. CRIMINAL WORK. Bob Randall slipped quickly inside, shut the door swiftly behind him, and stood as if listening. On his high, dark, and undeniably handsome face there was a look of mingled worry and anger. His eyes seemed haggard, and Bully Carson chuckled to himself as he recalled what his father had said about Randall brooding over a fancied injury. It was quite plain that Randall was in good shape to be worked on. “What’s the matter?” inquired Bully. “What you listenin’ for?” Randall dropped into a chair, wiping his brow. “I thought old man Dobbs had seen me come in,” he explained nervously. “You see, I got held up at school, couldn’t get away earlier, and had to sneak past the guards. I came in the hotel by the back entrance.” “How’ll you get back to your room?” “Easy,” said the Southerner. “Rope to the window. I won’t want to be seen around here, though, or I might get reported. Old Dobbs knows me by sight.” Carson nodded, and flung himself into a chair. “I hear you got beaten to the captaincy of the nine,” he observed. “That kid Merriwell seems to cop out everything.” Randall’s face flushed. “What did you want to see me about?” he said, with a scowl. “About Merriwell,” Bully stated calmly. “Of course, he’s got you slated to pitch against the Clippers Saturday?” “Yes he has--not!” Randall lost his temper, and slipped into his Southern dialect as usual when he became excited. “I wouldn’t pitch if he did! I’ve had enough of these heah Yankee ways! I’m goin’ to leave Fahdale, Cahson, for wheah a man doesn’t hog it all because his fatheh is a big athlete! I cain’t swallow it and I won’t!”