"I want to tell you something," said Hooker suddenly; but again he stopped short and seemed to find it impossible to proceed.
"I'm listening," encouraged Rackliff. "Let it come. Great Scott! I'd like to have a cigarette."
But Roy, after remaining silent a few moments longer, slowly shook his head. "I won't tell you," he muttered; "I can't. But look here, Rack, you've got to get that money for me as soon as you can. I need it—if you only knew how I need it!"
"I'll drop my old pater a line to-night, informing him that I'm financially ruined. Gee! that makes me think of that little runt, Cooper! He certainly irritated me some by his insolent yapping."
"You came pretty near getting into trouble trying to coach Barville. You certainly had your nerve with you. I'd never had the crust to try that."
Herbert frowned. "It would have been all right, only for that big stiff, Bunk Lander. He threatened to punch me up, and I knew he was just the sort of a brainless fellow to do it. Only for his interference, Barville would have taken the game, and we'd be on Easy Street to-night."
"Eh?" exclaimed Roy, puzzled again. "I don't think I quite get you. I don't see how Lander's interference with you had anything to do with the result of the game."
The city youth coughed and shrugged his shoulders, a singularly crafty smile playing over his face.
"Of course, you don't see," he nodded. "I'll admit that I was somewhat too hasty. I should have waited a while longer before I attempted to put in my oar. That was where I blundered; but I didn't quite reckon on Lander."
"You've got me guessing. I wish you'd explain."