“I don’t believe it,” said Fleming, going white.
“I know what I’m talking about,” answered Joe, in a voice that carried conviction. “You’d better come to your senses, Fleming. We’ve got you dead to rights. You ran this man down. You’ve admitted it. You ran away without stopping. Half a dozen of us saw you do it. Nothing can save you from going behind the bars if the matter is pressed. You’ll do the right thing by this man, or I’ll see that you’re arrested the minute you set foot in New York.”
“What do you mean by the square thing?” asked Fleming, who now was thoroughly wilted.
“We’re not unreasonable,” said Joe. “You came within an ace of killing this man. He had to go to a hospital. At his age he’ll feel the effect of the shock as long as he lives. It will probably shorten his life. A jury under those circumstances would certainly give him several thousand dollars. I think you ought to give him at least two thousand. Will that be satisfactory, Mr. Anderson?”
The old man nodded.
Fleming reflected a moment. Then he nodded surlily.
“I’ll do it,” he muttered.
“And do it to-day, if you please,” Joe went on smoothly. “I want to know that this thing is settled before I go back to New York. Write down your address, Mr. Anderson, and Mr. Fleming or his lawyer will be up to see you before night. And I’ll run up myself before I leave, to see whether it has been done.”
There was a threat in the last words that warned Fleming against any attempt at evasion or delay. The latter agreed with a nod of his head.
There was no pretence of a farewell that would have been mere hypocrisy under the circumstances, and without a word Baseball Joe’s party left the room, while Fleming stared after them with baffled rage and hate in his eyes.