ter put mattresses under
Clancy's window for Williams to light on?"

Meantime, in Manager Clancy's room a scene was being staged that
fulfilled all the expectations of the players. Williams entered the
room with a swaggering pretense of ignorance of the nature of the
summons.

"Morning, Manager," he said with an effort at innocent playfulness.
"How's things?"

"Sit down, you crook!"

Clancy had arisen as Williams entered. He shot the order at the
pitcher viciously and without warning, and, as he spoke, he stepped
past the player, and locked the door.

Williams had gone pale. His mouth dropped open. He started to say
something, choked and sat down.

"What--what do you mean?" he managed to stammer as Clancy came close
and stood over him threateningly.

After his first outburst of rage Clancy was strangely quiet, speaking
in low tones, vibrating with repressed feeling. From the moment Barney
Baldwin had revealed to him his ownership of the Bears, and had issued
his positive orders that Williams should pitch the game, Clancy had
been fighting within himself, studying to find some plan of vengeance
that would strike all the plotters. Never for an instant had he
considered the thought of permitting the championship to be surrendered
by the orders of the owner.

"Williams," he said, "you're a never-to-be-sufficiently-spit-upon cur.
You're the lowest, yellowest dog in the world. I've known for two
weeks that you have been trying to lose the pennant for us."

"Shut up!" he snapped, lifting his voice sharply as the pitcher
attempted to speak. "I know what you've done and what you plan to do.
I know who is back of you"----

The pitcher cowered under the scathing denunciation and started as if
to rise.

"Who--who's been telling you this stuff?" he quavered, terror-stricken.

"You--you rat." Clancy's scorn stung like a lash and Williams
quivered. "I know everything. I've waited and watched when you
thought you were putting something over. I've waited for a chance to
get you"----

He paused a moment, while Williams, palsied with terror, sat unable to
answer.

"And I've got you, Williams!"

He shot the sentence at the pitcher, who half started from his seat,
lifting his hands as if to protect himself from attack.

"I'm not going to choke you to death, I wouldn't soil my hands on you,"
said the manager with a scornful laugh.

"What are you going to do, Bill?" William's voice quivered.

"I'm going t