They cornered McRae and Robbie as soon as the manager and his assistant entered the clubhouse.
“I’d like a word with you and Robbie in private, Mac,” Joe began without any preliminaries.
“Sure thing,” replied McRae, in some surprise at the state of repressed excitement under which the young men seemed to be laboring. “Come over in my office.”
“Mac,” said Joe, as they seated themselves after the manager had carefully closed the door, “Jim and I have found out why we’ve been knocked out of the box.”
“What do you mean?” demanded McRae.
“I mean just this,” said Joe, and went on to tell in detail the events of the morning.
The faces of McRae and Robbie were a study as Joe unfolded the rascally scheme. Incredulity, conviction, and rage beyond expression succeeded each other in turn.
“The scoundrels! The skunks! The thieves!” gasped Robbie, his face apoplectic.
McRae leaped for the telephone.