CHAPTER XXIVA MATTER OF VERACITY
Near eleven o’clock that forenoon, Henry Cope saw Benton King passing his store. Immediately he hurried out, calling to the young man.
“Hey, Bent!” he cried. “Want to see ye a minute. Come back here, will ye?”
King came back.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Cope? You seem somewhat disturbed.”
“Come inter my office, won’t ye? I want to ask you a few questions. ’Twon’t take long.”
King glanced at his watch. He was wearing a woolen shirt and his ordinary mill clothes, but even in such common toggery he was a rather handsome young fellow.
“All right,” he said; “I’ve got ten minutes to spare.”
He was speculating a bit as he followed the storekeeper into the cramped private office.
“Set down,” invited Cope.
“I prefer to stand, if you don’t mind.”
“All right. I’ll come right to the p’int. I s’posed you was ruther interested in our baseball team, and I didn’t cal’late you’d do anything to hurt it.”
“You were quite right,” said Bent.
“Well, if that’s the case, why have you been tellin’ that Tom Locke is a college pitcher from Princeton? Why did you go and put such a notion into the noddles of the Bancrofters? What made you give Mike Riley such an idea?”
The young man frowned.
“Who says anything of the sort? I have never mentioned this fellow you call Locke to Riley, or any other Bancroft man. I wish you would explain how you got the impression that I had.”
Cope told of Riley’s visit and his threat, Bent listening with great interest, which the expression of his face indicated.
“You’re the only person ’round here,” the storekeeper concluded, “who has said anything about Tom Locke bein’ anybody ’cept what he calls himself. You come to me and tried to pump me ’bout him. You said you’d got the notion that Locke was Hazelton, of Princeton. Now, somebody put Riley onter that, and if it wasn’t you, who was it?”
“I’m unable to answer your question, Cope;but I assure you that it was not I. But it is quite evident that I was not wrong in believing I knew Mr. Locke; heisHazelton, of Princeton—isn’t he?”
“Now, that don’t have nothin’ to do with it. I told ye before when you asked me that you’d have to go to somebody else to find out.”
“Which was practically a confession that I had scored a bull’s-eye. I was right.”
Cope puckered his face and rapped impatiently on his desk with his knuckles.
“Well, now, s’pose youwasright, do you want to make a heap of trouble for the team by publishin’ it and gittin’ us mixed up with Bancroft in a fuss over him? Was that your objec’? Is that the way you help your own town team to down them Bullies?”
“Hardly. I had quite a different object, believe me. What it was does not concern you at all, Cope; it’s my own affair. However, if the fellow has been using Bancroft as a cat’s-paw to help him squeeze Kingsbridge for a fancy salary, it will serve him right if he gets it in the neck, and finds himself barred from both teams. That’s the way I look at it.”
Cope sprang to his feet excitedly, almost choking in the effort to utter the words which rushedto his lips. He was mightily disturbed, and, as usual when overwrought, he perspired freely.
“But he says he never done nothin’ of the sort, and he wouldn’t lie.”
“Wouldn’t he?” said Bent, with a faint sneer. “Why not?”
“Because he’s an honest young feller—honest and square as a brick.”
“How do you know that? Let me tell you, Cope, that a college man who will play summer ball for money, under a fictitious name, is not honest; and such a fellow wouldn’t choke a little bit over a lie.”
“Y’u’re wrong ’bout this chap—dead wrong; he’s on the level.”
“He may be,” admitted King, preparing to depart; “but I have my doubts. I wouldn’t trust him out of sight. Why, such a man might double cross you any time. He can be bought and sold. It may be a very good thing for the team to dispense with his services.”
Having said this, he left the office and the store, heedless of some parting words from Cope, who was far more agitated than he had been before the interview.
There was triumph in Benton King’s heart, for the last shadow of uncertainty regarding theidentity of Kingsbridge’s star pitcher had vanished. He had felt before that he was on the right track, but now he was positive about it; Henry Cope’s refusal to answer his point-blank question had been admission enough.