“Be careful! Better take that back!”
Lefty laughed. “I’m ready to add more to it. I haven’t told you half what I know. If I were to do so, you’d realize what a dumb fool you have made of yourself. You think you’re wise to all that was planned, but you’ve been let in on only a very little of it. You’ll tear your hair when you get a squint at the foundation stone of this neat little conspiracy.”
“I–I don’t know what you mean.”
“That’s right, you don’t; but you will know in time. You’ll be kept in the dark as long as it suits Tom Garrity.”
“What’s Garrity got to do with it?”
Locke smiled on him pityingly. “Don’t be childish, Weegman. That sort of a bluff is too thin. I was wise when I signed to manage the team.”
In vain the man stormed, threatened, coaxed, cajoled; he could not bend Lefty in the least, and at last he realized that he had made a big blunder in estimating the character of the southpaw.
“So it’s war between us, is it?” he finally asked.
“I have looked for nothing else,” answered the pitcher.
Weegman snapped his fingers in Locke’s face. “All right!” he cried. “You would have it! Just you wait! You’re going to regret it! We’ll see how long you last!” And, turning round, he strode away, muttering to himself.