They resumed their watching, and, though they saw the three brothers doing something in the boat, the hidden ones never dreamed that the Smith boys were plugging up the holes with corks. “It’s got to sink pretty soon now, if we want to see the fun,” observed Beantoe, after an anxious pause. “I think it’s going down some,” said Spider doubtfully, wondering whether he had not worked the scheme right. “Yes, it’s going down stream, to the fishing hole,” spoke Beantoe. “I guess it’s all up with the joke.” They realized that it was all over as far as they were concerned a few minutes later, when the boat containing the Smith boys passed around the bend and out of sight, apparently in as good a condition as it had ever been, and not leaking a drop. “Well, what do you know about that?” demanded Spider, as he got up and stretched his cramped legs, for they had been crouching in the bushes. “What do I know about it?” demanded Beantoe in accents of disgust. “I know that you don’t know how to play a joke; that’s what I know. I thought we’d see some fun, and watch those fellows have to swim ashore.” “So did I, but—but something went wrong, or else they got on to the game, and stuffed up the holes,” answered Spider, helplessly scratching his head. “Come on, I’ll treat you to a chocolate soda.” This somewhat consoled Beantoe, but there was anguish in the hearts of the cronies when, that evening, as they were down at the post office with the usual crowd of boys, the Smith brothers, who had returned from a successful fishing trip, stepped up to the plotters. “Here’s something for you and Spider, Beantoe,” remarked Cap, holding out his hand. “What is it?” demanded the stumbling lad, backing away, for he feared a trick. “Something to stop up holes in boats,” answered Cap, as he showed a lot of corks. There was a chorus of laughs for the Smith boys had told the story, and the joke was distinctively on Beantoe and his crony. They slunk away, and Spider had to stand treat for several more sodas before his chum would forgive him for being led into a plot that was so easily turned against themselves. It was some time before they again ventured to play a joke on our heroes. Meanwhile the baseball season was drawing to a close, and the championship of the county league lay between Vandalia and Freeport. It came to the final game, the play-off of a tie. “Now fellows,” remarked Cap, one afternoon, as they journeyed toward the diamond in Freeport, where the closing contest was to take place, “we’ve just got to win to-day. It means the pennant for us.” “And for Vandalia—if we lose,” added Pete, in a low voice. “But we’re not going to lose, Sawed-off!” exclaimed Bill, as he swung his pitching arm around to limber it up. “Are we, Cap?” “Not much,” and the tall lad thumped his big mitt. “Don’t let anything get past you to-day, Pete.” “I won’t. Is Bateye going to play?”