I see we're being watched, and the people of this town are so hot against Bancroft, and you in particular, that they might get suspicious, and think there was something crooked doing if we talked too long."
"Guess that's right," admitted Riley. "They ain't got no love for me in Kingsbridge, 'count of our rubbing it inter them last year. Makes me laugh, the way they squealed. They were so sore they swore they'd have a team to beat us this year at any cost. That's how you got your job; they decided to have a reg'ler manager, who could give all his time and attention to handlin' the team. Sorry for you, Hutch, but if they beat Bancroft under the wire with the bunch they've scraped together, I'll quit the game for good. So long."
Having learned that Hutchinson was not wholly responsible for the make-up of the Kingsbridge nine, Riley did not hesitate to express himself in this manner, thus betraying the disdain in which he really held his opponents of the day.
Only once since the organization of the so-called Northern League, which really had very little organization whatever, being run, like many small, back-country "leagues," in a loose, hit-or-miss fashion—only once had Bancroft failed to win
