he rose in the morning at an unusually early hour, even for him. When he appeared at the Central Hotel and inquired for Locke, he was told that Tom was not yet up, and did not often get to breakfast before eight o'clock.
"I've got t' see him right away," said Cope. "I'll go up to his room. It'll be all right."
"I wonder what's the matter with him?" said the clerk to a bell hop, when Cope had hurried away up the stairs. "He looks all broke up this morning."
"Mebbe the groc'ry business and baseball is too much for him," grinned the boy. "He's fussin' over the team all the time. What did they hire a manager for? Why don't he let Hutchinson run the ball team?"
Cope knocked twice at the door of a room. After the second knock, a sleepy voice asked who was there.
"It's me," answered the man outside. "It's Mr. Cope. Somethin' important. Got to see ye right away."
In a few moments the door was opened, and Locke stood there, in pajamas, yawning.
"It must be important to bring you around this hour, Mr. Cope," he said, with a sleepy laugh. "Come in."
