"Hello, Stover. Come right in. Glad to see you." Gimbel, a little puzzled at this first visit, came forward cordially. "You know every one here, don't you? Jackson, shake hands with Stover. What'll you have, pipe or cigarette?"
Stover nodded to the fellows whom he knew on slight acquaintance, settled in an arm-chair, brought forth his pipe, and said with assumed carelessness:
"What was all the pow-wow about when I arrived?"
A certain embarrassment stirred in the room, but Gimbel, smiling at the question, said frankly:
"We were fixing up a combination for the baseball managership. We are going to lick you fellows to a scramble. That's what you've come over to talk about, isn't it?"
"Yes."
The crowd, plainly disconcerted at this smiling passage of arms, began to melt away with hastily formed excuses.
"Quite a meeting-place, Gimbel, you have here," said Stover, nodding to the last disappearing group.
"Politicians should have," replied Gimbel, straddling a chair, and, leaning his arms on the back, he added, smiling: "Well, fire away."
Each had grown in authority since their first meeting on the opening of college, nor was the question of war or peace yet decided between them.