“There never was any private agreement between us. I signed to handle the team, but I did not agree to become your puppet.”
“You did. You said that–”
“That I understood the conditions you had proposed, but I did not say that I consented to them. I had no intention of letting you dictate to me.”
“Fool! Fool!” snarled Weegman. “How long do you think you’ll last? And you made that crazy trade with Frazer! Do you know what I’ve done? Well, I’ve notified Frazer that the deal was irregular, and won’t be recognized by the club. Not a dollar of that five thousand will he ever get.”
“You know better than that. The trade was legitimate, and it will stand. Frazer can collect by law. Any other deal that I make will go through, too, whether you are aware of it at the time or not. Until Charles Collier himself takes away my authority, I’m manager of the team with the legal right to carry out my own plans, and I intend to do so. I shall ask no advice from you, and any suggestion you may make I shall look upon with distrust.”
They fought it out, eye to eye, and presently Weegman’s gaze wavered before that of the unawed southpaw. The man he had sought to make his blind tool was defying him to his face.
“I see your finish!” he declared.
“And I see yours,” countered Locke. “You think you’re a clever crook. You’re merely an instrument in the hands of a bigger and cleverer scoundrel who doesn’t care a rap what happens to you if he can put his own miserable scheme over. Your partnership with him will be your ruin, anyhow. If you had half the sense you think you possess, you’d break with him without losing any time.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve only planned to do my best to save a team that has been raided by the Feds. You’re killing the last chance for the Blue Stockings.”
“Tell it to Sweeny!” exclaimed Lefty. “You’re trying to deliver the team into the hands of Tom Garrity. Deny it if you wish, but it isn’t necessary to lie. You’ve played Judas with Collier.”