“I thought likely. Made you a big offer?”
“Yes.”
“What have you done?”
“Nothing.”
“Good!” exclaimed Weegman. “It’s a good thing for you that you kept your head. They’re outside organized ball, and any man who jumps to them will be blacklisted. All this talk about the money they have behind them is pure bluff.”
“Think so?”
“I know it. They’re plunging like lunatics, and they’ll blow up before the season’s over. They haven’t got the coin.”
“Then how does it happen they are signing players for three years, and handing over certified checks in advance for the first year, besides guaranteeing salaries by bank deposits for the full tenure of contracts?”
“Oh, they’ve got some money, of course,” admitted Weegman lightly; “but, as I say, they’re spending it like drunken sailors. When the Feds explode, the fools who have jumped to them will find themselves barred from organized ball for all time; they’ll be down and out. The outlaws may hurt us a little this year, but after that–nothing doing. Just the same, I own up we’ve got to put a check on ’em before they rip the Blue Stockings wide open. That’s what brings me down here to Fernandon to see you.”
“Really!” said Lefty interestedly. “You seem to be shouldering a lot of responsibility.”