“No, indeed.”
“Belong here?”
“No, sir.”
“Sorry. I wanted to tell you what I thought of that yellow quitter, for is he a quitter. I’ve been to the trouble and expense of bringing my team here to play a game of baseball to-morrow. Now it’s off—off because that man won’t stand by his verbal agreement. It will cost me a tidy little sum.”
This thought added fuel to his rage, and he swore again, causing the hotel clerk to glower upon him from the desk. Fortunately, there were few guests in the lobby of the hotel.
The young man seemed more amused than disturbed by this burst of violent language.
“The best-laid plans of mice and men go wrong,” he observed.
“I hope you don’t call Loring a mouse,” rasped Harrison. “He isn’t big enough to be a mouse; he’s a worm. If we could play every day it would be different; but I’m under heavy expense, and these long jumps add to the drain. I counted on doing fairly well here at the Springs, for the place is full of tourists who must be sick of seeing scenery and itching for diversion of a different sort. Think of that man going back on his word and trying to get an even split on the gate money! I told him over the phone that I would only play on the agreement that the winning team took two-thirds. That was pretty fair, too, considering that in lots of cases the contract has been for the winners to take three-fourths and the losers the remainder.”
“Evidently you felt certain of winning.”
Harrison’s lips curled.