“What is there to do about it?” asked Joe, with a shrug of his shoulders as he turned from the mirror and caught up a hat. “We don’t really know any more than we did before, only that our suspicions have been to some extent verified. If that fool waiter hadn’t come around just as he did I might have listened to some purpose. I haven’t learned yet what ring is backing them up. We’d better be on our way,” he added. “We’ll be late for practice as it is. Plenty of time to finish our talk on the way down.”
“I can’t get this thing straight in my mind yet,” Jim complained, as they hurried along toward the field. “It begins to look as if McRae were right—as if this gang of crooks were really out for blood. But, Joe, I’m glad the cops chose that time to raid the hotel.”
“What’s the idea?” asked Joe, as he skillfully wriggled and darted through the traffic. “I don’t get you.”
“You poor old simpleton!” retorted Jim affectionately. “Do you know where you would be now if that raid hadn’t scared off McCarney and Hupft?”
“I don’t know,” returned Joe, with a grin. “But I have a strong suspicion it would be somewhere far away from here.”
“Just so,” returned Jim, adding with more than a little anxiety in his tone: “You’ve got to stop jumping in where angels fear to tread. Or, if you must do it, at least seek company in your jumpings. You’ve more than yourself to think of, you know. There’s Mabel.”
“I know,” said Joe steadily. “Don’t suppose I’m not always thinking of her, old man. But I’ve got my duty to the league and the great game too. Not even Mabel would want me to forget that.”
“Just the same,” retorted Jim stubbornly, “it won’t help the game any if you get injured!”