There was a chorus of denial, and the manager turned back to Schaeffer.
“I’ll look into it,” he promised. “I’ll stand for anything but dirty business, and any man who’d do a thing like this gets the gaff, I don’t care who he is.”
He hesitated for an instant, and his jaw squared. “As for you,” he went on harshly, his keen eyes boring the Texan’s flushed face, “you’re rotten. Talk about dirty playing! If I’d had any idea what sort of a cheap roughneck you were, this game would never have started. You can bet your boots I’ll take pains to let people know just what you are, and I kind of think you’ll have a hard job finding a decent team after this that’ll have anything to do with you. See?”
He stood glaring at the Texan, who for once had nothing to say. Presently Brennan’s eyes swept the circle again.
“No rough-house!” he snapped shortly. “You boys better beat it back to the hotel. There won’t be anything more doing to-day. Dolly’s come to and gone along with a couple of the men. This game’s finished. Get started now. There’s been enough monkey-shines to-day.”
Reluctantly, and with many savage glances at Schaeffer, the Hornets obeyed. It came hard to leave the scoundrel that way, but they knew Brennan meant what he said, and so they gave in.
“Serves him good and right,” said Andy Whalen, as he caught up with Elgin. “I’m blamed glad the cur got something to cook him, and I’ll be hanged if I blame any fellow for spiking him. Wonder who it was? Didn’t you see anything, Bert?”
He looked curiously at Elgin, who shook his head promptly.
“Not a thing,” the latter answered. “First I knew anything was wrong was when he yelled he was spiked. I wouldn’t wonder if it was an accident, anyhow. With everybody pushing and shoving, somebody likely stepped on him without meaning to.”
“Nix!” retorted the cub backstop. “I took a good look at his foot, and, believe me, it wasn’t no accident. It was a good hard stamp, done on purpose.”