Before he could lift the receiver from the hook the door swung open, and Weegman came in, pale and shrinking. At his heels followed Locke, Kennedy, and Stillman. With an astonished exclamation, Garrity put the instrument down.
“I hope we don’t intrude,” said Lefty, smiling on the startled owner of the Rockets. “Having learned from Weegman of this little business meeting, we decided to drop in. I’m very glad to see that you have arrived home in time, Mr. Collier.”
“Too late!” sighed the hopeless man at the desk. “Too late! You’re just in time to witness the transference of the Blue Stockings to Garrity.”
“On the contrary,” returned the southpaw easily, “we have come to purchase Mr. Garrity’s Blue Stockings stock at the prevailing price. Likewise his interest in Northern Can.”
Garrity rose, his face purple with wrath. A tremendously explosive ejaculation burst from his lips. “What in blazes do you mean?” he roared.
“Just what I have said,” Locke answered calmly. “Since arriving in town I have made arrangements for this little business matter. I have opened an account with the New Market National by depositing a certified check for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which is more than enough to make the purchases mentioned. Mr. Collier’s attorney will arrive in ten minutes or so to see that everything is done in a legal manner.”
“But you can’t buy a dollar’s worth of my holdings in either concern.”
“You may think so now. I’m sure you’ll change your mind in a few moments. It is also reported that, for the good of the game, you’ll get out of organized baseball. Have you brought a copy of the second edition of the Morning Blade with you, Stillman? Show it to Mr. Garrity, please.”
The reporter drew a newspaper from his pocket, opened it, passed it to Garrity. One finger indicated a half-column article, with headlines.
GARRITY TO GET OUT.