George understood, but his pride was not hurt.
"I'll pay you in other ways."
Bailly looked at him, his emaciated face smiling all over.
"I think you will," he said with a little nod. "All right. At eight-thirty."
He limped along the narrow cement walk and entered the club. George started back. The group, he noticed, still loitered in front of the restaurant. Rogers detached himself and strolled across. He was no longer suspicious.
"You been down at the field with Mr. Green?"
"Yes."
"What for?"
"Running a little, kicking a football around."
"Trust Bailly to guess you played. What did Green say?"