“I’ll bother you only a minute,” she said.
“No bother at all—no bother. What can I do? Anything the matter?”
“I have come to ask you, confidentially, about—about the man who is called Tom Locke.” She half turned her head away.
“Eh? Oh, him? What you want t’ know?”
“Mr. Cope, I want you to tell me the truth. You need not fear that I will repeat anything you say. You have always been my friend, and now, as such, I ask you to answer my question. I hope you’ll not refuse or put me off.”
“You bet I’ve alwus been your friend, little girl,” he returned earnestly. “What’s the question?”
“You engaged Mr. Locke for the baseball team, and you know who he is. They are saying he is a Princeton College man by the name of Hazelton. Tell me, Mr. Cope, if that is true.”
“Now, what makes the difference who he is?” spluttered the grocer, frowning. “I’m bein’ pestered to death about him.”
“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to pester you. I gave you my word I would not repeat anything you told me, but if you will not answer my question—”