listening to the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs, and now, as the door was thrust open and the tardy one stepped in, he gave an exclamation of great relief and satisfaction.
"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said Tom Locke, his face flushed. "I believe I am somewhat late, but it was the fault of my watch, which I have discovered is slow. I hope I have not kept you waiting long."
He bowed to everybody in a general, pleasant way, smiling on Cope, who had sprung forward to grip his hand.
"I knowed you'd come," said the grocer. "I told them you'd be here. Now, gents, you can go ahead."
A hard gleam had appeared in the eyes of Tom Locke as he noted the presence of Benton King, but, after the first swift glance, he ignored the lumberman's son.
The meeting was called to order in the regular manner, and Kilgore read the written protest of Manager Riley, which, as it appeared, had privately been formally worded by the lawyer himself. The document curtly charged that "the baseball player passing under the name of Tom Locke and appearing as a member of the Kingsbridge team of the Northern League" was in
