"Bob Bangs jest went down to the ball grounds," was the answer, which surprised Randy not a little.

"Where are the grounds?"

"That way," and the colored boy pointed with his hand.

"I thought maybe Bob was sick."

"He ain't sick--he's only pertendin'," answered the colored boy.

Randy said no more but hurried off in the direction of the baseball grounds. Just as he came in sight of the place, he saw a figure ahead that looked familiar to him.

"Unless I am mistaken, that is Bob," he told himself, and hurried closer.

It was indeed Bob Bangs, walking along as if nothing had ever happened to him. He was smoking a cigarette. He pa.s.sed into the grounds and Randy did the same, and took a seat on a bench directly behind the rich youth.

It was easy to see that Bob Bangs was not suffering physically. He smoked half a dozen cigarettes, and applauded as loudly as anybody when a good play was made.

"Fine game," said a man sitting next to Randy.

"It is," said our hero. He looked at the man and saw that he was evidently a merchant. "Excuse me, are you from Catskill?"

"I am."

"Do you want to do me a favor if I pay you for it?"

"Well, it won't be a favor if you pay me."

"I may want your a.s.sistance and I may not. Do you see that boy there?"

"Yes."

"He doesn't look as if he was sick abed, does he?"

"Sick abed? What sort of a game is this?" and the merchant looked Randy over with much curiosity.

"That boy's father says he is sick in bed. I want to prove that it isn't so."

"What is the game, anyway?"

"He had an accident on the river and he wants damages from a man I work for. It is a put-up job."

"Oh! I've heard of such things before. I know a rascal who cut his foot with an ax and then went down to the railroad and laid the blame on a train. He got five hundred dollars, but, later on, was found out and sent to prison for the deception."

"Well, this isn't exactly like that. Didn't you hear about a sloop running into the _Helen Shalley_ a few days ago?"

"Oh, yes, a friend of mine, a pa.s.senger on the boat, told me about it.

He said the boy didn't know how to handle the craft."

"Well, that is the boy."

"Indeed!"

"Does he act as if he was hurt or suffering?"

"Not in the least."

"Would you be willing to testify to that fact, if it came to law?"

"Certainly."

"Will you give me your name and address?"

"Here is my card," and the merchant handed it over. He did not add that he occasionally sold Captain Hadley some goods and was glad to do the master of the steamboat a service.

The game was almost at an end when the ball was sent among the spectators. Seeing it coming towards him, Bob Bangs leaped up and tried to catch the sphere. It hit the tips of his fingers, stinging them greatly. Then the ball came towards Randy and he caught it and threw it back into the field.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Bob Bangs, as he caught sight of our hero.

"Watching the game," answered Randy, quietly.

"Humph!"

"Pretty nice game, Bob."

"Humph!" muttered the rich boy again.

"I see you are feeling fine again."

"I am not--I am real sick," answered the rich boy, quickly.

"Sick in bed, eh?" went on our hero, with a grin.

"I was in bed."

"Last night, I suppose. So was I."

"I'm sick yet."

"You showed it--by the way you were cheering and yelling."

"When did you come in?"

"Right after you."

"Humph! Have you been watching me?"

"Yes."