soothing or flattering, and mere talk could not remedy what had happened.
Some one grabbed Riley by the elbow, and he looked round, to see Fancy Dyke, accompanied by Rufus Kilgore, a lawyer, who was one of the backers of the Bancroft team. Dyke's thin lips were pressed together, the corners being pulled down into something half sneer, half snarl. The lawyer looked disturbed.
"What're you doing?" asked Fancy. "Standin' here to give them howlin' muckers a chance to see how bad you feel? Where's the police, any how? They oughter pinch that whole bunch for disturbin' the peace."
"It would take the whole police force of the city to arrest a single man of them and land him in the caboose," said Kilgore. "Kingsbridge didn't send down a hundred fighting men to see any one of them pinched because he was celebrating a victory over us."
"We was lookin' for you, Riley," said Dyke. "Come on over to Kilgore's office."
"What for?" growled the manager, having drawn back and shaken off Fancy's hand.
"We're goin' to have a consultation; we're goin' to talk this thing over. Jorkins and Butler will be right along. We've told 'em to come."
