"Come up special to see you on 'portant business," returned the Bancroft manager, without loss of time. "It's about your pitcher, Locke. Would you mind lettin' me see the date on your contrac' with him?"
"Hey?" exploded Cope, decidedly startled. "Let you see the contrac'? You've got a nerve! If I had a reg'lar written contrac' with him, I wouldn't show it t' you. What're you drivin' at?"
"Then you haven't a contrac'?"
"I didn't say so; I said a written contrac'. Of course, there's an agreement between Locke and me. 'Tain't necessary for it to be in writin'."
"When did you enter into this contrac'?"
"That's my business. Hang it, man! d'you think I'm goin' to tell you my business? You've got another guess comin'."
Henry Cope was decidedly warm and wrathy.
"Keep y'ur shirt on," advised Riley. "Mebbe you'll state when you fust entered into negotiations with Locke?"
"Mebbe I will—and, then again, mebbe I won't. What's that to you? You ain't got nothin' to do with it."
"Don't be so cocksure about that. You oughter know the rules and regerlations of the league.
