“Oh, do you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I suppose you intend to become manager again?”
“Perhaps I do. You forced me out of it by your trickery, and if I’m asked to take the position again I may consent.”
“Consent!” snarled Fernald. “You’ll jump at it!”
“Sit down right here and now,” commanded the president of the league sternly, “and write your resignation. I’ll furnish the pen.”
“And I’ll furnish the paper,” laughed Dick, stepping into his own room and returning in a moment with a sheet. “Here it is.”
“That’s bub-bub-bub-bub-business!” chattered Jolliby. “We’ll gug-gug-gug-get rid of one crook! If we could catch old Hammerswell the same way it would be a mighty gug-gug-good thing for baseball in these parts!”
Fernald seemed undecided. He took a cigarette case from his pocket and extracted a cigarette, which he slowly rolled between his fingers. All the while he was thinking, but in vain he sought some loophole of escape. He had fallen into the trap, and the only way out of it was to assent to the demand made upon him.
“I want to tell you people one thing,” he finally observed, having struck a match and lighted the cigarette. “No man up to date has ever played me a trick like this and not lived to repent it. This fool boy will repent it, too.”