CHAPTER XXV

THE HATCHING OF THE PLOT.

New London is not a great city, but it is a busy and prosperous one, and, especially about boat-race time every year, it presents a scene of great activity and one with a good many elements of the picturesque. It has the finest harbor on the coast between New York and Boston, and is a favorite place for yachtsmen. Before the annual regatta between Yale and Harvard on the historic Thames River, the harbor begins to fill up with yachts of all sorts and sizes, which, on boat-race day, line the course, and provide a splendid vantage ground for those fortunate enough to be invited to witness the race from their decks.

On this Saturday night, with the race still five days distant, the harbor was already well filled with craft. Two revenue cutters, assigned to guard the course and prevent accidents on the day of the races, as well as to give the racing shells a clear path of water for their contest, lay at anchor near the eastern point, and further in the anchor lights of two score small vessels already showed. First come, first served, is the rule in assigning stations along the course for the race, and few owners cared to take chances by a belated arrival.

One of these boats was very different from its neat, trim neighbors. It looked more like a fishing vessel than a yacht, and it flew the burgee of no well-known yacht club. Its decks were slipshod and messy; its spars were in bad order, and dirty sails, untidily stowed away, bore testimony to the carelessness of its crew and the loose ways of its skipper. The boat, named the _Marina_, and hailing from Gloucester, Massachusetts, was a fairly large one, schooner rigged, but evidently making little use of its sails for getting around. It had a powerful gasolene motor to serve as an auxiliary engine, and was, therefore, independent of its sails if their use was not desired.

This vessel had taken up an anchorage a little way below the railroad bridge, and nearer the heart of the town than most of the other yachts. Many of these were clustered near the New York Yacht Club station, and all had apparently sought to be as near the cottage colonies on the two points as possible, in order that their parties might go ashore quickly to take part in the numerous festivities that had been arranged.

A single look at the group that was gathered about the big table in the main cabin of the _Marina_ would have explained why she had chosen her anchorage where she did. The men seated there were not at all the sort to be invited to parties at the cottages of the New London colony. The saloons in the neighborhood of the station were more likely to be their resorts while on shore, and the cabin, filled with smoke, and suffocatingly close, was not a pleasant sight. A big man, with yellow mustache and blue eyes, was doing most of the talking.

“I don’t know anything about the people that are involved,” he said. “All I know is that the plan is a good one. It’s a plan that will work and that will enable us to make a lot of money. We found that out this afternoon. I’m not afraid of this man Merriwell you speak about. I don’t know anything about him—and I don’t want to. He can’t find out what we’re doing. It’s physically impossible. So why worry about him?”

“That’s all right, Captain Svenson,” said another member of the group. “I’m glad to hear you talk that way. But there’s a lot of money involved, and I don’t like to risk my cash unless I’m sure everything is perfectly safe. Yale is a top-heavy favorite for this race. If we can plunge on Harvard and Harvard wins, we’ll make a big killing. I should say that we ought to clean up about twenty or thirty thousand dollars. These Yale people will bet at odds of five to three, or even two to one, and they’ll go pretty hard, if they’re managed right. But I’m not familiar with all the arrangements, and I feel a little leery about going in without knowing more than I do.”

“We can’t tell you any more than we have, Dennison,” said the third man. “You ought to be satisfied. I’ve put up five thousand dollars, and Svenson has mortgaged this boat to get two thousand to go into the scheme.”

“I suppose that’s pretty good evidence that you think it’s all right,” said Dennison, though still in a doubtful voice. “But the thing that makes me hesitate is that old Bill Harding wouldn’t go into it with you.”

“Harding’s a quitter,” said Barrows, the other man, impatiently. “He said he didn’t have the money, but the truth is that’s he’s afraid of Merriwell. He admitted that much to you. He has tried to put one or two things over on this fellow Merriwell, and he’s either had bad luck or made an awful mess of the job each time. Anyhow, he thinks that Merriwell’s got the Indian sign on him now, and he’s lying back, waiting until he sees Merriwell leaning out of a high building or something of that sort. You ought to be able to stand on your own feet, Dennison. You’re old enough.”

“Well, if you say it’s positively all right, I suppose it is,” said Dennison, still reluctant, as it seemed, to commit himself to the enterprise they had planned. He took a big drink of whisky, and the stimulant seemed to revive his courage somewhat.

“Of course, it’s all right,” said Barrows. “You held a watch on that crew this afternoon, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Dennison.

“Well, that was just a sample,” said Barrows. “That’s a pretty good Yale crew, but there’s no knowing positively, in spite of the odds, that it’s good enough to beat Harvard, even in a straight race. As it stands, with us to pull the ropes for Harvard, Yale hasn’t got a chance. I haven’t got any sentiment in a thing of this sort. I’d just as soon see Yale win as Harvard—but the odds are on Yale, and there’s more profit in throwing the race to Harvard.”

“I don’t think much of those odds,” said Svenson suddenly. “Look here—why can’t we shake them up a little bit? The Harvard crew is going to have its last time row to-morrow. You know the way they’ve been talking. They’re going to row in public, and let any one at all hold a watch on them. Well, let’s give the people something to talk about.”

“Say,” cried Dennison, “that’s a great idea. We ought to be able to jack those odds up to four or five to one. The Harvard men won’t do any betting at all at any odds, and the Yale fellows will be so cocksure that they’ll give any sort of odds we ask for. You’ve got a real head on you, Svenson.”

He got up and left the cabin to get a breath of fresh air on deck. Svenson, an able captain, who had of late found it difficult to get a ship because of certain things he had done that were far from being to his credit, though he had managed, so far, to prevent the loss of his master’s certificate, looked after him contemptuously.

“How about that bird?” he asked Barrows. “I don’t like his looks.”

“Neither do I,” said Barrows. “But we need his money. Harding sent him along.”

Barrows, like Harding, was a professional gambler, but he was a more determined fellow, and, in some ways, less of a villain. His appearance was not unattractive, his eyes being his worst feature. They were set close together, and small; and a student of faces, looking at him, would have distrusted him on their evidence alone.

“This Dennison,” he said, “is one of those crooks who pretends he isn’t crooked. He’s always looking for something for nothing—but the other fellow’s got to do the dirty work. He’s the sort who would go in on a wiretapping game, to steal money from a pool room, and then squeal to the police when they took his own roll away from him. But we can’t get along without him.”

“I suppose not,” said Svenson. “All right—we’ll let him in.”

They shook hands on it, and then went on deck to rejoin Dennison. But he had decided that the yacht was too dirty for his fastidious taste, and had gone ashore to the hotel.