“You’re right the first time,” Joe assured him. “Anything I can do for you?”
The other made no reply to this, but merely motioned to Joe to follow him. They passed through a long cellar and then up a flight of stairs that let them into the rear of the hall where Joe had had the battle the previous day. Then they climbed the main staircase, and Joe was conducted into the room where the rascals had been congregated.
The leader of the gang was there, in company with another man whose face seemed familiar to Joe from the first. He could not place the man, however, and had little time to think of this before the ringleader spoke.
“Well, young feller, how did you enjoy the night?” he asked, and there was a cruel leer on his big, flabby face.
“You know well enough what that place is like without my telling you,” said Joe. “Tell me what your game is and let’s get it over with. You won’t gain anything by putting it off.”
The other regarded him searchingly for a few moments.
“Well, in your case, perhaps not,” he said at last. “What you have got to do is to sign a paper saying that you won’t play baseball again this season. You sign the paper, and you walk out the door a free man.”
“And what if I refuse?” asked Joe.
“Then you’re going toward the river. There’s too much of our money sunk in this game now to let us hesitate about what happens to one baseball player more or less.”
“You must have a lot of confidence in me,” said Joe. “Suppose I sign this paper and then go right ahead and play ball anyway? What’s to stop me from doing that?”