“I should say so! Well, glad to have met you, Hall. And—er—by the way, in regard to that Barry case. Seems to me we might—er——”
“My idea exactly,” replied the other heartily. “I’ll very gladly advise a settlement to my client. I’ll drop around in a day or two and we’ll talk it over. Good-bye!”
Mr. Talbot followed the players to the dressing-room, worming his way through a crowd of enthusiastic youths, who had gathered to show their approval of the Blues, and Mr. Hall, seeking a way from the field, was suddenly confronted by the gentleman who carried the cane and the grey gloves. Mr. Hall’s face expressed surprise and delight.
“Johnny!” he exclaimed. “Where’d you drop from?”
Mr. York chuckled as he shook hands. “Hello, old man,” he said. “You look almost as flabbergasted as Sam Craig did when I yelled.”
“Was that you bellowing like a bull?” laughed Mr. Hall. “I might have known it. You’re always right there with the advice, Johnny.”
“Well, it happened to be good advice this time. It won the game.”
“Oh, certainly,” scoffed the other. “Craig and the others had nothing to do with it!”
“Craig did what I told him to,” replied Mr. York untroubledly. “If he hadn’t, he’d never have nailed that man at second and the score would have been tied at this minute—unless the other chaps had won. Come on and let’s get out of here.”