, by thut-ter! you'll find I ain't afraid to give ye all the
chance you want on that Wyndham game. If you've really got twenty-five
dollars, mebbe we can raise a pool, same as we done before, and cover
the whole of it. I'll put in my share anyhaow. Who's the next feller?"

"I am!"

"Count me in!"

"I'm another!"

"Same here!"

"Me, too!"

It seemed that they were all eager to contribute to the pool, and
Herbert, smiling with self-complaisant satisfaction, felt that he had
cleverly accomplished his purpose.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE WYNDHAM PITCHER.

Shortly before nine o'clock on Saturday morning a touring car,
containing three youths, not one of whom was over eighteen years of
age, whirled up before the door of Mrs. Conway's boarding house in
Oakdale and stopped.

The occupants of the car did not belong in Oakdale; they came from
Wyndham, and the machine was the property of the father of the oldest
one, who was at the wheel. This was Orville Foxhall, second baseman of
the Wyndham nine. At Foxhall's side sat a husky, raw-boned, long-armed
chap, Dade Newbert, the pitcher on which Wyndham placed great
dependence. The chap in the tonneau was Joe Snead, too fat and
indolent to take part in any game of an athletic nature.

"This is the house, Dade," said Foxhall; "this is where your friend
boards, all right."

"Humph!" grinned Newbert. "It doesn't look swell enough to suit Herb's
style. He's the real warm article, as you'll realize when you see him.
When it comes to cutting a dash--well, Rack can cut it, you bet. I'll
see if he's around."

Springing out, Newbert strode to the door and rang. After a time, as
he was growing impatient and had prepared to ring again, the door
opened a foot or so, and a tall, thin, hopeless-looking woman surveyed
him inquiringly.

Newbert asked for Rackliff.

"Yes, he boards here," answered the woman in a mechanical tone of
voice; "but he isn't up yet."

"Ho, ho!" laughed Newbert. "Isn't up? Well, that's like him; won't
pull himself away from the mattress until he has to. He's a luxurious
brat."

"I'm afraid Mr. Rackliff may not be feeling very well this morning,"
said the woman. "He has a very bad cold and coughs terribly. I told
him last night that he should consult a doctor, and I heard him
coughing the greater part of the night."

"Well, well! Sorry to hear it. I'm an old friend of his, and I've
come over by appointment to take him back to Wyndham wi