“Indeed, you are modest!” scoffed Richard Dick. “You seem to want it all, and a little something more. But if you think you’re dealing with a blind sucker, we had better drop the business at once. I’ve told you I was out for sport, and that will satisfy me. Whatever share of the gate money might come to me, I’d agree in advance to donate to the Collins’ Home for Consumptives. I don’t want a dollar above expenses, and our expenses will be light.”
“You’re certainly not working this deal as a business proposition,” agreed Harrison. “How do I know you’ll get up the team? How do I know you’ll play at all? Perhaps you’ll squeal, as Loring did.”
“I’ll agree to place a hundred dollars in the hands of the proprietor of this hotel, as a forfeit to be paid you in case we don’t play. I shall ask that you put up a similar amount as a forfeit. The game shall be advertised at once—as soon as I can make arrangements for the field. The announcement shall be spread broadcast that a team of college players will meet your Outlaws to-morrow afternoon. What say you?”
“It sounds better than nothing,” admitted Harrison slowly. “Of course, you chaps wouldn’t be much of a drawing card, but we might get out a fair crowd to see my boys work. Yes, it’s better than nothing.”
“Do you accept?”
“Three-fourths to the winners, and the losers to pay all expenses?”
“Yes.”
“But the grounds—how can you get them?”
“Leave it to me. I happen to know Charlie Loring personally. The local team will not use the grounds to-morrow. I’m confident I can secure them.”
“All right,” snapped the manager of the professionals sharply, “it’s a go. We’ll sign an agreement right away. I have a regular blank form, which can be filled out in less than a minute. I accept your proposition that each of us shall place one hundred dollars with the proprietor of this hotel to stand as a forfeit in case either party backs down. Come ahead into the writing room.”