Part 7 (1/2)

At the corner above they turned into High Street, coming finally to the white Methodist church.

”Let's stroll around behind the church, where no one will see us,”

proposed Hooker.

”Like a pair of plotters on foul intentions bent,” laughed Herbert.

”To watch you manoeuvre, one might get the fancy that you were involved in some desperate and terrible piece of work.”

”Now, look here, Herb,” said Roy, facing his companion behind the church, ”you're situated differently from me, and you can't seem to understand my position. You don't belong in Oakdale, and you don't care a rap what the fellows around here think of you or say about you.”

”Not a rap,” nodded Rackliff.

”That's just it. Now this is my home, and I've got to be careful about some things. I don't want to get everybody down on me.”

”I haven't observed,” said Rackliff unfeelingly, ”that you're particularly popular with the fellows of this benighted burg.”

”I'll make myself a blame sight more unpopular if they ever get onto it that I bet against my own school team. You can do it, for you say you don't expect to stay here more than one term, anyhow. Then if my folks should know, they'd raise the merry d.i.c.kens.”

”And that would break the monotony of a severely humdrum existence.

I've had more than one stormy session with the head of my family. How much money did you sc.r.a.pe together?”

”I haven't counted it yet,” answered Roy, thrusting his hand into his pocket and looking around, as if apprehensive that they were being watched. ”I say, Herb, are you really dead sure that Barville will win this afternoon?”

Rackliff sighed. ”As sure as one can be of anything in this old world.

Hook, you've got cold feet.”

”Well, I wouldn't want to lose this money. I can't afford to lose it.

I can't lose it.”

”You won't, old chap--you won't. I'm getting you in on this out of pure friendliness, nothing else; and you must remember what I agreed to do yesterday--if you lose, I'll stand for the loss.”

”That's generous; that's all right. Perhaps you can't get any bets, anyhow. The fellows around here aren't given to betting real money on baseball.” Roy produced a closely folded little wad of bills and some loose change. ”Here's all I have,” he went on. ”I'm going to let you take it and bet it on Barville, if you can.” There was a two dollar bill, two ones, and eighty-five cents in change.

”Fifteen cents more would make an even five,” said Herbert. ”Can't you dig that much up?”

”This is all I have,” repeated Hooker, ”every last red cent. I'll have to pay admission to the game, too, as long as I'm not on the nine. I must keep a quarter for that.”

”And that leaves it forty cents shy of a fiver. Well, if necessary, I'll make that up. I'm going to risk ten of my own money.”

”Risk it?” muttered Hooker, again troubled by qualms.

”Oh, you know what I mean. There's no risk; that's simply a sporting term. A fellow with sporting blood likes to pretend he's taking a chance, whether he is or not. Where did you get----” He stopped short, suddenly fancying it best not to inquire into the source of his companion's money, and in the momentary silence that followed a slow flush mounted to Roy's temples.

”The team practices a little at ten o'clock,” said Rackliff, glancing at his handsome watch. ”It's getting near that time. Come on over to the field and watch me throw out a bait for suckers.”

”I don't think I will,” said Hooker. ”I believe I'd better keep away, and there won't be any talk made.”

”Suit yourself,” coughed Herbert, lighting another cigarette. ”I've got to get busy if I'm going to hook anything.”