The boy presiding at the box smiled mysteriously. “That’ll be all right,” he said. “You won’t need any check.”
Afterwards, Cooke concluded that it was at that moment that suspicion began to creep in. But the messenger led on and he followed around the back of the stand and into the presence of four grim-looking and extremely athletic first class fellows. Cooke saw no telephone, and a frown gathered on his classic brow. The messenger was speaking. “Here he is,” he said. “I got him. Where’s me half?”
A coin changed hands. Cooke looked on curiously, a question trembling on his lips. But he didn’t need to ask that question. Suddenly the four youths encompassed him closely and he felt no further interest in telephones.
“Is your name Cooke?” asked the spokesman.
Cooke wanted very much to deny it, but knew that denial would be futile. So he said yes, and the other went on as follows:
“Well, Cooke, we don’t like your sort. There’s a train that will take you to Kenwood leaving our station in fifteen minutes. If I were you I’d try mighty hard to get it. It won’t be healthy for you around here after it’s gone.”
Cooke moistened his lips. “Why should I?” he demanded in a weak attempt at bluster. “I paid to see this game——”
“That’s all right. You’ll get your money back. We’ve bought your train ticket, and there’s eighteen cents change coming to you. You can walk to the station comfortably in twelve minutes.” The speaker looked at his watch. “You’ve just got twelve if you start now. These chaps are going with you to show the way and see that you don’t change your mind.”
Cooke looked at the faces surrounding him, bit his lip, laughed weakly and shrugged. “I suppose you think you’re frightfully clever,” he said, “but you’re not worrying me any. I don’t care to see the game, anyhow. We’ll beat you, so what’s it matter?”
“Eleven minutes,” was the reply. “You’ll have to run if you don’t start quick.”