“I don’t believe it! He’s your chum and you’re just trying to save him. But you can’t fool me like that, Bert. I’ve warned you, mind! You tell Chick what I say, because I don’t want to do him dirt.”
“Sounds like it,” laughed Bert. “What do you call it then?”
“I’m working for the Team, I tell you! I’d do the same thing if it was you, or Ted Ball, or Jonas Lowe! Chick’s double-crossed Johnny and the rest of us all the fall and he can’t pull any grand-stand stuff now and get away with it while I’ve got a tongue. He’s cheated, and he’s got to take his medicine!”
“Tommy, I tell you that Johnny knows all you’re going to tell him. I give you my word. You’ll just make yourself look silly if you go to him with—”
“You’re lying, Bert.” Tommy shook his head gently. “It’s all right, though. He’s your friend.” Tommy’s hand wandered toward a pocket mechanically. “I’m sorry I’ve got to do this.” He stuffed a few nut kernels in his mouth and opened the door behind him. “Tell you what I’ll do, Bert. I’ll give Chick until after dinner to think it over. That’s fair. You tell him I say he’s got to keep off the team Saturday. If he agrees to that I’m satisfied. But you let me know, see? If I don’t hear from you by half-past one I’m going to Johnny and spill the whole thing.”
“Oh, go to the dickens,” fumed Bert. “Get out of here, you crazy nut! Beat it!”
“One-thirty,” said Tommy hopefully as he disappeared. “You talk to him, Bert. Tell him I say it’ll be all right—”
The door slammed shut just before a copy of “Eugénie Grandet” reached it.