“Say, you wouldn’t be mean enough to do that, Allen, I hope? I acknowledge the corn about this thing. I did do it, but more to get you knocked off the baseball team than anything else,” said Lef, in pretended humility.
All the while he was edging toward the table; but if Frank suspected his design he took no measures to stop the other.
“What good would that do you?” demanded the one Lef had injured.
“I used to pitch for Columbia, yes, and won many games for them up to the time you knocked me out. I’ve never got over being sore for that. Lots of times I’ve tried to get even. You know how. Sometimes I succeeded in giving you a jolt; but more times the shoe was on the other foot. This seems to be one of that sort. I never thought the old man had you with him all the time he was out of his den.”
“But you haven’t answered my question—how would it profit you even if I was dropped from the team?” continued Frank, persistently.
“Why, I had some hope that when the team was left without a pitcher enough influence might be brought to bear on the Head to let me take my old place in the box again. That’s all I did it for; Frank; I give you my word.”
“I suppose you look at such things differently from the way others do; and perhaps you even now believe it wasn’t such a dirty trick after all. I’m just wondering whether I’d better accept an apology from you and let it go at that, or take the matter before Professor Parke.”
Lef made a sudden movement of his hand, and the little tray was dumped from off the table, depositing its contents in a mass upon the floor.
“What did you do that for?” demanded Frank.
“Destroying the evidence, that’s all. I guess you’ll have some difficulty now about proving the ridiculous assertion you just made. Of course I never dreamed of playing such a mean trick as stealing that paper, and hiding it on you! And, Mr. Smarty, my word ought to be as good as yours, any day!”