“Dick Merriwell,” the Yale man answered.
“Golly!” exclaimed the youngster, open-mouthed. “The twirler! What d’yer think of dat, Pete?”
He grinned engagingly at Merriwell.
“I’ll help yer out, Dick,” he said impudently.
“Good boy, kid,” the Yale man laughed. “You’re the stuff, all right.”
That seemed to be the turning point. Many of the men knew Merriwell, who was a popular idol among all classes of baseball fans, and the prospect of doing him a good turn, and at the same time thwarting a trust, so appealed to the men that the majority of them turned about and went back to the printing rooms.
The foreman was won over without a great deal of trouble. He was a thrifty Scotchman, and the prospect of the twenty dollars which Dick promised him considerably more than overbalanced the inconvenience of going without his supper and curtailing his night’s rest.
Consequently, when Dick and the young actor left the place half an hour later, the men were all busy setting up the bills, which would be ready for the presses in very short order.
The two stopped at a near-by restaurant and ordered a good supply of sandwiches and coffee sent up to the printers, and then hustled off to find Lawford, the billposter.
“By Jove, old fellow!” Demarest said, as they turned into Chapel Street again and walked swiftly past the green. “You certainly did that trick to perfection. I shall be your debtor all my life for having saved the situation.”