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 CHAPTER XLIV

FACING HIS ACCUSERS

Seasonable July weather caused discomfort for the seven persons assembled in the dingy office of Rufus Kilgore for the purpose of attending the meeting called to consider Manager Mike Riley's claims. Riley himself, in his shirt sleeves, sat with his back toward one of the wide-open windows, a handkerchief tucked round his neck inside his collar, grumbling and smoking. Anson Graham, president of the league, a serious, middle-aged man, with block-*trimmed whiskers, who had the look of one who might be just, but would rarely temper his justice with mercy, was talking to Kilgore, the secretary of the organization, who occupied the chair at the desk.

David Farman and William Jones, representing Fryeburg and Lakeport, respectively, were aimlessly discussing various topics, such as the weather, crop prospects, and the ardent desire that the usual number of boarders from the city might be netted by the blandishments of adver