laying my pipes."

"Doing what?"

"Making sure that you and I could form a little pool and seek a few
wagers on the game to-morrow, with the dead certainty of winning. I've
been over to Barville to see Newt Copley."

"Oh!" muttered Hooker. "And you put my machine on the blink!"

"It simply quit on me, that's all. I didn't do a thing to it--on my
word, I didn't. There's nothing broken, old man. I'm certain you'll
be able to tinker it up again all right. You can bet your life I'd
never made that trip if I'd dreamed it would be necessary for me to
push the old thing so far. Still, I'm mighty glad I went. Say, Roy,
Copley is dead sure Barville will have more than an even show with
Oakdale to-morrow, and you know what I think of his judgment. Now, if
you've got any money, or can raise any, just bet it on Barville and
make a killing."

"But I wouldn't want to be seen betting against my own school team."

"Ho! ho!" laughed Herbert derisively. "Then let me have your cash, and
I'll place it for you. I haven't any scruples."

"But you may be mistaken. Even Copley may be, for he hasn't seen
Oakdale play."

"He says Sanger is a wiz. Look here, Roy, do you know Eliot's finger
signals to the pitcher?"

"Why, yes."

"Uses the old finger system, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"One finger held straight, a straight ball. Two fingers close
together, an outcurve; spread apart, one on the inside corner. One
finger crooked like a fish-hook, a drop."

"You've got 'em correct, but what's that got to do with----"

"Oh, I just wanted to know," chuckled Rackliff. "Get your loose change
together and let me handle it. If I don't double it for you to-morrow
I'll agree to stand any loss you may sustain. You won't be even taking
a chance. What do you say?"

"Well, if you're as confident as that," answered Roy, "I'm certainly
going to raise a little money somehow to bet on that game."

CHAPTER VII.

RACKLIFF FISHES FOR SUCKERS.

Saturday came, warm and balmy with springtime odors. Roy Hooker,
standing at the street corner near his home, seemed to be listening to
a robin calling joyously from the topmost branches of the elm that rose
above his head; but, truth to tell, the boy's ears were deaf to the
notes of the bird, and his eyes were being turned alternately along
Middle Street or down Willow. He was waiting for some one, and
presently that person appeared, leisurely approaching, with now and
then a thin wis