“He’s some sore,” thought Brad. “I opine he lost a dollar or two to-day.”
A slender young chap approached Fernald and spoke to him. This slender fellow the Texan recognized as Pete Knox, head waiter at the Corndike.
“I need that money now,” said Knox, in a low tone, “and I need it mighty bad, too.”
Fernald frowned.
“You’ll have to wait,” he retorted. “I can’t pay you.”
“But you promised it to me right after the game. I’ve been discharged here.”
“Discharged?”
“Yes.”
“Why? How’s that?”
“I don’t know. I was fired this afternoon, and I’m out of a job. Haven’t a dollar, either. So you see the twenty-five you agreed to pay me will come in handy.”