t bathe this morning; haven't got the nerve for a cold
plunge, and a warm one might fix me so I'd catch more cold. Just you
make yourself comfortable as you can while I'm getting into my duds."

Three times while dressing Herbert was compelled to sit down to rest,
and Newbert declared that his friend seemed to be pretty nearly "all
in."

"I certainly am," agreed Rackliff; "I'm up against it. Never was
knocked out like this before. Why, I can't even smoke a cigarette, it
makes me bark so. You can imagine how tough that is on me. Sometimes
I'm half crazy for a smoke--I'm shaking all over; but when I try it I
just have to quit by the time I've taken three whiffs."

"You've smoked too many of those things, that's what's the matter.
Used to hit 'em up myself; thought it real devilish. Never took any
real satisfaction in it, though."

"That was because you didn't inhale; they're no good unless you do."

"They're no good if you do; give me a cigar every time."

"You got my last letter all right?" asked Herbert, selecting a necktie
from his abundant supply.

"Oh, sure. I've put all the bunch wise, too. They're wondering how I
got hold of the information, but I didn't give you away, old pal. I
reckon mebbe Foxy and Snead suspect now, but they won't say anything."

"You've got to win," said Herbert, carefully knotting his tie at the
mirror. "My old man is kicking over being touched up for cash so
often; says he can't see how I spend so much in this quiet place. I've
bet every sou of the last amount he sent me on your old baseball team,
and if you don't take this game----"

"We will, don't worry about that. We could have done so anyhow, but of
course you've helped make it a dead-cold certainty. If you've got any
friends here who----"

"Friends!" sneered Rackliff; "friends among these country yokels!
Don't make me laugh, for it might start me coughing again."

"But you said you let a chap in on the Barville deal. He----"

"He wasn't a friend of mine," said Herbert scornfully; "he was only a
chap I wanted to use. I've let another dub into this deal, but I
didn't do so simply to befriend him--not on your natural. Perhaps
you've heard of him--Phil Springer. He expected to be the star slab
artist on the great Oakdale nine this season, but he unwisely coached
another fellow to assist him as second-string pitcher, and now the
other man has pushed him into second place--and he has quit, dead sore.
He's an eg