Mit followed them from the room and to the elevator. He was bursting to say more, but he did not know just how to say it. When they were in Locke’s room he began:
“Keeper and King for that old skate Brock! What’s the matter with you, Ben? You’ve got bats in your belfry! Why, you’ve gone clean off your nut! You’ve–”
Frazer cut him short. “That’ll be about enough from you, Mit! Don’t try to tell me my business. I’m getting five thousand bones in the bargain.”
“Hey?” shouted Skullen, turning on the young manager of the Blue Stockings. “Five thousand bucks! You’re coughing up that sum without consulting anybody? Say, you’re going in clean over your head. You’d better hold up and wire Weegman what you’re thinking about. If you don’t–”
“When I want your advice I’ll ask for it,” interrupted Locke sharply. “You seem to be greatly interested in this business, for an outsider.”
Skullen was choked off, but he gurgled and growled while the papers were being filled out; he even seemed disposed to refuse to sign as a witness, but finally did so, muttering:
“There’s going to be the devil to pay over this, you can bet your sweet life on that!”
Lefty didn’t care; it was settled, and neither Collier nor his representative could repudiate the bargain. Let the crooks rage. The only thing the southpaw regretted was that Weegman would, doubtless, quickly learn what had been done; for it was a practical certainty that Skullen would lose little time in wiring to him. In fact, Mit soon made an excuse to take his departure, and, in fancy, Locke saw him making haste to send the message.
Frazer was wise, also. “You’re going to find yourself bucking a rotten combination, Locke,” he said. “They’re bound to put it over you before you’re through.”
“I should worry and lose my sleep!” was the light retort. “Give me a cigar now, Ben; I haven’t felt so much like smoking in a month.”