desperation.

"Step outside and wait. Don't let him come up. I'll call you in a
minute."

Ringold was recounting his version of the first touchdown--how he
had been forced inch by inch across the goal line to the tune of
thirty thousand yelling throats and his companions were hanging
upon his words, when their new friend interrupted in such a tone
that Anthony inquired in surprise:

"What's wrong, old man? Are you sick?"

Locke shook his head. "I told you fellows I'd been followed this
evening. Remember? Well, there's a man down-stairs who has given
the waiter ten dollars to let him have his coat and apron so he
can come in here."

"What for?"

"Who is he?"

The men stared at the speaker with a sudden new interest.

"I'm not sure. I--think it's part of a plan to rob me." He let his
gaze roam from one face to another. "You see--I just came into a
big piece of coin, and I've got it with me. I'm--I'm alone in New
York, understand? They've followed me from St. Louis. Now, I want
you boys to help me dodge this--"