"What're you tryin' to do—make trouble fer me?" rasped Riley resentfully. "You've got busy mighty quick after the game, ain't ye?"
"It's sure time something was done," retorted Fancy defensively. "This town won't stand for much more of the medicine it had to swaller to-*day."
"That's right," agreed the lawyer. "Everybody is sore over it. To be downed by Fryeburg or Lakeport would be bad enough, but to have Kingsbridge rub it into us—oh, blazes!"
"I don't s'pose you guys got an idea I'm goin' to lay down and let the Kinks keep it up right along?" snapped the manager. "I reckoned you knew I warn't built that way."
"It won't do any hurt to talk over what's to be done," said Dyke. "Come on!"
Riley followed them, scowling blackly. They crossed the street along which the hilarious Kingsbridgers had passed, came to an open doorway two blocks farther on, and mounted a rather dark flight of stairs. Kilgore jingled a bunch of keys attached to a chain, and opened a door bearing his name lettered upon it, at the head of the stairs.
The office consisted of two uncarpeted rooms, the front and larger having windows which looked upon the street. The lawyer flung open one of
