of the drink saved me from getting a soaking, as I was just
going overboard after Herb. Rack thought he wouldn't take a bath this
morning, but he did, just the same. Ho! ho! ho!" The cause for the
laugh seemed to be nervousness and excitement rather than mirth.

"Rackliff!" muttered Springer, struck by sudden conviction.

"Old chum of mine. Don't suppose this little experience will do his
cold any good, I got Orv Foxhall to come over here for Herb this
morning with old man Foxy's bubble that's down there at the bottom of
the canal, where it's liable to stay for some time. I reckon we'll all
travel back to Wyndham by steam cars." He turned and ran toward the
crowd that was coming up from the scene of the rescue.

"Rackliff!" muttered Springer once more.

He knew now who had written those signals on that sheet of paper.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A REBELLIOUS CONSCIENCE.

The game between Oakdale and Wyndham was in progress, and, wretchedly
miserable, Phil Springer sat watching from the bleachers. Never before
in all his life had he felt so much like a contemptible criminal, a
dastardly traitor to his team, against which, through the agency of
Herbert Rackliff, he had wagered money. It was not, however, the fact
that he had made such a wager that troubled him most, although at this
moment, deep down in his heart, he was sincerely ashamed of that.

The principal cause of his misery, the reason why he kept telling
himself over and over that he was a cowardly sneak, was his knowledge
that the playing signals of the visitors had been betrayed to the home
team, and that, taking advantage of the knowledge thus obtained,
Wyndham was prepared to block Oakdale's every play, and was doing this
in a manner which appeared to the average spectator like almost uncanny
foresight and cleverness at the game.

In the very first inning, with only one out and a runner on third, the
Oakdale batter, taking his instructions from Captain Eliot, had walked
out to the plate with the bat held in his right hand, handle downward,
which was the signal for the squeeze play. But Wyndham had known what
was coming quite as well as Oakdale, and Newbert, pitching the ball
beyond the batsman's reach, gave the catcher every chance to get the
runner as he came lunging hopelessly toward the pan.

The second inning, also, had opened promisingly for Oakdale, but the
enemy's knowledge of the meaning of those signals had made it a simple
matter to b