Turning abruptly, he hurried over to a telephone booth and shut himself in. The instant the manager’s back was turned Buck Fargo groaned.
“What the devil did you tell him for?” he said sadly. “I’m afraid you’ve gone and done for yourself, kid. I have never seen the old man in such a temper since Billy Smith sold a game to the Pinks last spring.”
“I wanted to lie,” the youngster confessed, “but I simply couldn’t, Buck.”
“You’re awful particular! Who do you s’pose done it, that cur Elgin?”
“I can’t think of any one else equal to it,” Lefty answered. “It wouldn’t be the first miserable trick he’s worked.”
He broke off as a door slammed and Brennan came striding toward them, his eyes savage and his face the color of a beet.
“I knew it!” he said. “No such message went through the office.”
He paused a second, his legs spread wide apart, regarding Lefty with a cold, contemptuous scrutiny.
“I’m through with you!” he burst out, at length. “I can put up with a lot, but I haven’t any use for a quitter. I thought you was one when I first saw you, but now I know. You skipped out to-day because you were afraid—nothing else. You pretty near pulled me with that tale of yours—but not quite. You fooled me with that dirty spiking trick, too, but I’m wise now. I’m done with you! Go back to the bushes or the hot place, whichever you prefer!”