came to my store, 'long with Fancy Dyke, and told me just who you was—called you by your right name."
The younger man sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed, a startled expression on his face. For some moments he stared at the caller, as if at a loss for words.
"I don't understand how he got wise," he finally said slowly. "Called me by my right name, did he?"
"Yep; said he knowed you was Paul Hazelton, of Princeton, and that he was negotiatin' with ye last December. Now, what I want to know is if there's any truth in that statement. If there is, we're in a hole. Did you git a letter from him? Did you write him an answer?"
To the increasing surprise and alarm of Cope, the pitcher seemed to hesitate about replying.
"Did ye? Did ye?" cried the older man impatiently. "Why don't ye answer? You know whether you got such a letter or not, don't ye? You know if ye answered it? What's the matter? Answer! If you done that, we're in a hole. They've got it on us. And to think of that, just when we was holdin' the best hand over them! Speak up, boy!"
"I am trying to think," said Locke.
