“Sit still,” retorted Hammerswell. “We have to win this game to-day, and I’m taking no chances. Raymer is the best pitcher in this league, and he goes into the box.”
Instantly Chester rose, savagely flinging down the ball he had been holding while sitting.
“Then I’m done!” he snarled. “This ends it for me! I quit you now, Hammerswell, and I hope your old team is wiped off the map!”
“Hold on!” commanded the manager sharply. “You’ve been paid in advance. You’ve received your salary for another week.”
“Oh, forget it!” sneered Arlington. “That’s all right! I’ll keep it!”
Benton exposed his teeth beneath his small, dark mustache.
“You will cough it up if you quit,” he asserted.
Arlington faced him unhesitatingly.
“Don’t dream such a thing for a minute!” he snarled. “I’ll cough up nothing. Instead of that, I may ask you to cough up a little. I know about some of the tricks arranged for this game. I know where certain balls are hidden in the outfield. Do you want me to talk?”
“You’d better keep still,” answered Hammerswell, in a whisper.