Jack Ballard was merely angry. I was bewildered into a state of helplessness. What should we do? What could we do? The damage was done. Telling Jerry wouldn't help matters and might unnerve him. We disconnected the telephone and dined at the apartment, making a pretense of eating, nervously awaiting the hour when we should go to the Garden. We had reached the coffee, of which we were much in need, when there was a ring at the bell and Ballard Senior came into the room, a copy of the Despatch in his hand.
"Have you seen this?" he snapped.
"We have," said Jack with an assumption of calmness.
"It's a lie?"
"No. It's the truth."
The old man raged the length of the room and turned.
"Do you mean that you've let this thing go on without trying to stop it—without letting me know—"
"We did try to stop it. There was no use in letting you know. Jerry's mind was made up."
"Jerry! The fool is ruining himself—and us. The thing must be stopped—at once."
Jack smiled coolly. "I don't see how you're going to do that."