As the conspirators drifted into the darkness a dim form arose from behind a shrub. It was Marty O'Malley.
“Ah! I'll fool you yet!” he hissed between his clinched teeth, and turning in the opposite direction he was soon swallowed by the darkness.
CHAPTER III
You'll not fail me, Jack!” said Marty O'Malley to Jack, the barkeeper of the Fielders' Rest.
“Not on your sweater!” said Jack, “Leave it to me. If that snoozer pitches this afternoon I hopes d' boss'll put in a cash-register!”
Marty O'Malley hastened to the side of his love. Jack, the faithful barkeeper, went on cleaning his glasses.
“That hobo, Devine, will be here in a minute,” said Jack at last, “an' I must organise for him.”
Jack took a shell glass and dipped it in the tank behind the bar. Taking his cigar from between his finely chiselled lips, he blew the smoke into the moistened interior of the glass. This he did several times.