“It won’t if you treat it kindly,” Fudge assured him. “Give it plenty of oats and hay, Mr. Ryan, and a drink of gasoline now and then and it’ll be as quiet as a lamb.” They left the coachman muttering over the harness he was cleaning and got on their wheels. “Who will you get to look at it?” asked Lanny as they rolled homeward. “I don’t know. Not Stacey, anyway. Of course I’ll have to talk with Morris first, and Mr. Brent too, I guess. And maybe it won’t come to anything.” “What won’t?” asked Fudge suspiciously. “Never you mind, son. It’s something that doesn’t concern little boys.” “Go on and tell me,” begged Fudge. “Is it a secret?” “It wouldn’t be if you knew it,” answered Gordon unkindly. “I’d like to know when I ever blabbed anything,” exclaimed Fudge indignantly. “Didn’t I know all about Charlie Matthews a whole week before anyone else did? And didn’t I——” “Well, we may tell you some time,” teased Gordon. “What do you think, Lanny?” “I guess so. It would cost money to advertise it in the paper, and so——” “Oh, you make me tired,” growled Fudge. “I don’t want to know it anyway. ’Tain’t anything, I’ll bet!” “Not a thing, Fudge,” agreed Lanny. “Then what you so—so mysterious about?” Fudge demanded. “To arouse your curiosity, Fudge. Good-night, Gordie. Maybe you’d better tell him before he busts up. Good-night, Fudge. Say, we play Lesterville Saturday, don’t we?” “You bet! And don’t forget practice again to-morrow. We want to beat those fellows.” “Well, we’ve got a perfect record so far,” laughed Lanny. “Our percentage is one thousand. Played one, won one, lost none. Are the Pointers going to play us again?” “Sure! I told Dick to see Caspar Billings to-day if he had a chance and see if they’d come over here a week from Saturday.” “That’s good. Bet you, though, they lick us next time. So long.” Lanny sped homeward and Gordon and Fudge parted midway between their gates. “You come over after supper, Fudge, and I’ll tell you what that is we were talking about.” “Thanks, but I guess I don’t care to know,” replied Fudge a trifle haughtily. Gordon laughed. “Don’t be a chump. We were only fooling. All the fellows are going to know about it, but I’ll tell you first if you’ll come over.” “You told Lanny first,” Fudge objected doubtfully. “But—I’ll come.” CHAPTER XII A REVERSED DECISION Two days later the Clearfield Baseball Club met at the railroad station shortly after dinner time and boarded the train for Lesterville. Only Harry Bryan was missing. A press of business had developed at the grocery store and Mr. Bryan had, to Harry’s sorrow, set his foot down on a Saturday holiday. A small youth named Tim Turner, a youthful crony of Fudge’s, was drafted to play in right field and Jack Tappen was moved to second in Harry’s place.