The Selbys kept their own counsel, although Tom burned to tell everybody whom he met not to bet with Hank Jackson on the baseball match; but, after pondering the matter in his mind, he came to the conclusion that if people would bet on a baseball game, they must run their own risks and chances. It would serve them right, he thought, if they did lose their money in this foolish fashion. The League, he knew, had enacted severe rules against gaming, and the influence of that example should be strengthened even if by the misfortunes of those who laid wagers.

So there would have been no suspicion of Hank’s complicity in any plot, if Mike had been able to keep a secret, but Mike adored “the lady operator” secretly and from afar. He submitted in silence and uncomplainingly to her rebuffs and scoldings for the sake of winning her regard. In a moment of confidence, he imparted to the object of his dumb worship the information that the cipher message which she had received for Jackson was “crooked.” The young lady was shocked. She had heard that Hank was going about town offering to bet against the Catalpa nine, and now she instantly divined what was going on, and was indignant accordingly. The fact that she had been the unconscious channel of communicating with the culprit did not lessen her wrath. Unhappily for Henry, he came to the office in the course of the afternoon, and the operator, as soon as she saw him, gave him a piece of her mind, to his great discomfiture. Hank, unlike his co-conspirator, did not attempt to deny anything, but tacitly admitted all that was charged against him by the irate young lady.

After turning over in his mind the circumstances of the scrape into which he had been drawn, Master Jackson coolly sat down and wrote the following despatch to Ben Burton:

The thing is blown. Look out for yourself.

It was this warning, received by Burton after the game was over, that put him on his guard when he was confronted with the despatch sent to Hiram Porter. Next day, when the town was alive with enthusiasm over the reception to the returning baseball club, Henry Jackson did not appear in any of the excited groups that accompanied the players from the depot to their clubrooms.

The hilarity of the day was somewhat dampened by the fact that one of the nine was a traitor, and that he must be disciplined, if the charge were proven against him. The evidence shown to the boys on their arrival was tolerably conclusive, but it was needful, as they thought, to secure an admission from either Ben or Henry that there had been collusion between them. Burton’s father, a worthy and honest miller, sought out Captain Hiram, and, with much grief, told him that Ben had written to him from Chicago, saying that he was going to Indiana on unexpected business, and that he would not be in Catalpa for some weeks to come. This, to the old gentleman, who had heard the flying reports to his son’s discredit, was a suspicious circumstance. He did not like to believe that Benjamin had done anything wrong, he said, but he was “afeard,” yes, he was “afeard.”

Judge Howell sent for Hank Jackson, and that young man, although at first disposed to be stubborn, finally broke down before the majesterial bearing of the Judge and told all that was needful to convict himself and Ben of having combined to make money by betting on the game between the Calumets and the Catalpas. Ben, he said, had suggested the trick, agreeing to throw the game, if Hank, and any other confederate whom he might select, would get the bets secured in Catalpa. Henry also thought that Ben had arranged to have a similar scheme at the same time played in Sandy Key, where he had a boon companion.

The story of the despatches was now clearly unravelled. Ben had sent a despatch to Henry Jackson directly after leaving the Chicago lodgings of the club, on the morning of the second day; subsequently, he had remembered that his friend in Sandy Key might be utilized as a fellow conspirator, and, just before the game was called, he had hurried off a despatch to him, also. Inquiries subsequently developed the fact that this was exactly what had been done.

While Henry was undergoing an examination in Judge Howell’s private office, the nine were in consultation. Presently, the door opened and the Judge and his unwilling prisoner appeared.

“Henry has decided to make a clean breast of this unhappy business, Captain Porter,” said the Judge. “Speak up like a man, Henry, and tell the gentlemen what you have told me.”

With downcast eyes and a sullen manner, Hank fumbled with his cap, and mumbled his story, but without omitting anything relevant to the case. He was heard in silence, although “The Lily,” whose eyes glared vengefully at the culprit, with difficulty restrained himself. And when the door closed behind the Judge and the criminal, the ungentle William gave a roar of rage that astonished first, and then set the club off into fits of laughter, in spite of the solemnity of the occasion.

“Well, what is the result of your deliberations, Mr. Boyne?” asked a brisk and somewhat seedy young man, as the boys came down from their clubroom. Pulling out a note book and moistening a pencil at his lip, as he spoke, he continued, “Shocking case of depravity on the part of young Burton. Quite a small sensation, on my word. Small, small for a big city, but really sensational for Catalpa, you know. Ha! ha!” and the young gentleman laughed at his little sally.

“Great powers!” was Larry’s exclamation. “You are not going to print anything about this disgraceful business in The Leaf, are you?”

“Why, certainly, Mr. Boyne. I have a lovely article written up. We only want the action of the club to round it off, give it completeness as it were, and there you are.”

“Oh, that would be very bad!” cried Larry. “I don’t mind your saying in the paper that Mr. Burton has been obliged to leave the club, and that we have supplied his place by placing Mr. Albert Heaton at shortstop, Mr. William Sprague being unable to play, on account of having sprained his thumb while practicing with the club. But don’t let us disgrace the town and the club by making public Ben Burton’s treachery!”

A new light seemed to dawn on the reporter’s mind, and he sucked his pencil reflectively. Finally, he brightened up and said, “Well, you must go and see Mr. Downey. He was reckoning that we would have a first-class story out of this. I have no authority in the premises. I am only an humble scribbler, a mere local-items, so to speak. But a word from you to the editor-in-chief, Mr. Boyne, will have its effect. Yes, it will have its effect. But that is a lovely story spoiled, Mr. Boyne.”

Mr. Downey, when sought in the office of The Leaf, was deeply chagrined to learn that the members of the baseball club were unwilling that anything should appear in next morning’s paper regarding the unfortunate affair in which Ben Burton was involved. News was news, he said, and, what was more, news was very scarce at this season of the year. Harvesting was not wholly completed. No shooting matches had been yet arranged, and there was a frightful dullness throughout the county. His hated rival, The Dean County Banner, would be almost certain to get hold of the affair, and, as The Banner was a semiweekly, instead of a daily, like The Leaf, he would have time to work it up into that dime novel sensation to which The Banner was so addicted. And the editor of The Leaf curled his lip with fine contempt for his rival.

But the arguments of the young men overwhelmed the generous mind of the editor, who, on condition that similar persuasion should be brought to bear on the editor of The Banner, consigned to the wastebasket, but with a pang, the highly-seasoned narrative which his reporter had prepared.

The substitution of Albert Heaton for the derelict Ben Burton was not effected without a struggle. His mother, firm in her conviction that baseball was not an aristocratic game, held out against the arguments of her husband and her son, until Judge Howell, accidentally meeting her on the street, one day, craftily won her over by informing her that he wished that he had a son big enough to play baseball. He was sure that the honor and the glory of defeating the crack baseball club of the State would now fall to the Catalpa nine. It would be a great day for Catalpa when this happened.

The good lady surrendered. What Judge Howell thought and said seemed to her like law and gospel, social and moral. Albert joyfully received consent to play with the nine⁠—“just for this once.”