There was indignant protest in the husky voice.
“I said you’ll not get any out of me.”
“Huh! We’ll see about that. Now look here, Pop Dutton, either you help me out, or——”
Dutton turned to one of the officers who kept order on the ball field.
“Jim, see that this fellow gets out,” the old player said, quietly.
“All right, Pop. What you say goes,” was the reply. “Now then, move on out of here. We want to clean up for to-morrow’s game,” spoke the officer shortly to the man whom Pop had addressed as Hogan.
“Ho! So that’s your game is it—Mister Dutton,” and the ragged fellow sneered as he emphasized the “Mister.”
“If you want to call it a game—yes,” answered Dutton, calmly. “I’m done with you and yours. I’m done with that railroad business. I don’t want to see you again, and I’m not going to give you any more money.”
“You’re not!”