Though this last he doubted. It wouldn't be like Neil to
plan his murder, and it wouldn't be like the others to give him
warning and meet him in the open. Warily he stood behind the
table, watching their awkward embarrassment with easy assurance.
Carefully he placed face downward on the table the Villon he had
been reading, but he did it without lifting his eyes from them.
"You have business with me, I presume."
"That's what we have," cried Reilly valiantly, from the rear.
"Then suppose we come to it and get the room aired as soon as
possible," Leroy said tartly.
"You're such a slap-up dude you'd ought to be a hotel clerk, cap.
You're sure wasted out here.
So we boys got together and held a little election. Consequence
is, we--fact is, we--"
Neil stuck, but Reilly came to his rescue.
"We elected York captain of this outfit."
"To fill the vacancy created by my resignation. Poor York! You're
the sacrifice, are you? On the whole, I think you fellows have
made a wise choice. York's game, and he won't squeal on you,
which is more than I could say of Reilly, or the play actor, or
the gentlemen from Chihuahua.
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