Frank Merriwell's Races Part 34

"Well, what are you driving at?"

"Yale won the race to-day, and I reckon she's got glory enough to last her a while."

"Go on."

"The last ball game of the series between Yale and Harvard comes off next week?"

"It does."

"Yale has won one, and Harvard one."

"That is right."

"Yale stands a right good chance of winning the deciding game?"

"She is pretty sure of winning."

"And I have a pot of dust on Harvard. I can get odds that Yale will win, so I can stake more money."

Frank fancied that he saw the stranger's game, and he felt his anger rising rapidly; but, with a great effort, he held himself in control, and pretended that he did not understand.

The boy looked the man over from head to heels. He was making a study of the unknown. Already he had decided by the man's appearance and language that he was a Westerner, or wished to be considered such. Frank was not absolutely certain that the fellow was not masquerading as a man from the West.

As Merriwell remained silent after the stranger's last statement, he went on:

"If there is any way of knowing as how Harvard will win, I can stake my rocks on her, and pull off a good thing."

Still Frank was silent.

"You can see that plain enough, can't you, youngster?" demanded the man, seeming to grow impatient and restless before the lad's steady, piercing gaze.

"Any one should be able to see that," was the cold answer.

"Then all I've got to do in order to make a stake is to fix it so that Harvard is dead sure of winning."

"How can you fix it?"

"I don't see but one way."

"How is that?"

"Make it worth something to the Yale team to throw the game to Harvard.

I can afford to do that, I reckon; but I've got to find the right man to do the trick."

Frank's jaws seemed to grow square and hard, and there was a dangerous fire in his eyes. The stranger did not appear to discern this, however, for he went on:

"It rather strikes me that the pitcher has the best chance to do the little turn I want done, and that's why I've come to you. Now, don't go off half-c.o.c.ked! Hold hard, and hear me chirp. Every young fellow at college needs money, and they need a right good bit of it, too. I don't allow that you are any exception. Now, I reckon I can show you how you can make a smart bit of a pile and do it dead easy. n.o.body but you and me will ever know you did it at all, and there isn't any danger that we'll preach about it--none whatever."

"Make a square statement as to what you want," commanded Frank, finding it difficult to keep his voice from quivering, and feeling that his cheeks were burning with the angry blood that had surged into them.

"That's what I'll do, youngster. If you will pitch that game so Harvard will win, I'll give you a thousand dollars in cold cash. Now I reckon you understand me."

"I think I do," came icily from Frank. "You want me to sell the game for a thousand dollars! You put a small price on my honor, sir!"

"A small price! You talk as if a thousand were nothing! Hang me if I ever saw a youngster of your caliber! Perhaps you think I'm fooling?

Perhaps you think I won't pay? Look here! I'll make it two thousand dollars, and I'll give you a thousand in advance. That is a square deal, as you must allow."

Then he took a huge roll of bank notes from his pocket. Some were new bills, while some were worn and soiled. He rapidly counted off a thousand dollars in ten, twenty, fifty and one hundred dollar bills.

This money he thrust into Merriwell's hands, saying:

"There you have it, and that binds the bargain between us. I'll give you the other thousand directly Harvard wins and I collect my wagers. I'm a man of my word. I reckon it is settled?"

Frank looked at the money, making sure it was genuine. He quickly satisfied himself on that point. It was all right.

Never before had such a bribe been offered Merriwell, and, for some seconds, he stood with the money in his unbandaged hand, feeling somewhat dazed and doubtful.

"Put it out of sight!" whispered the stranger. "Don't let 'em see you have it. Give me your promise that you will throw the game to Harvard."

"I shall not pitch that game," said Frank.

"No?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"My hand will not be in condition, as you should know. True it is my left hand, but I'll not be able to bat with it, even if I could pitch."

"But you would throw the game if you could pitch?"

"No!" cried Merriwell, fiercely, letting his outraged indignation flame forth. "What do you take me for? I am no sneak and traitor, and not for ten thousand dollars--not for a hundred thousand dollars--not to save my very life would I do such a dastardly thing! You have made a mistake in your man! Take back your dirty money! I would not touch a dollar of it for the world! It would contaminate me!"

Then he flung the roll of bills straight into the face of the astonished man.

As the man stooped to pick up the money, which had fallen at his feet, Frank caught him by the collar with his well hand, yanked him up, and started him on a run for an open window.

Clinging to the money, the stranger uttered a protest at such rude treatment, but he was unable to turn about or break away, although he tried to do so.

Headlong through the window Frank pitched the fellow, giving him a powerful kick to help him along.

There was a cry of pain and rage, and the man disappeared.

This act of Frank's had been noted by the others within the boathouse, and it created no little wonder and excitement.

Harry Rattleton came running up, spluttering:

"h.e.l.lo, Frank! mut's the whatter--I mean what's the matter?"