CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was a Saturday night, the night before the big game and Ron lay stretched out on his bed, smoking-thinking. He had telephoned Jack earlier in the day, asking to see him that night, alone, at his apartment on very urgent business.
The door buzzer shattered the quiet. Ron glanced at his wrist watch. It was eight o'clock.
"Well," he said as he opened the door for Jack Fisher, "at least you're punctual. I suppose that's a habit you developed from meeting newspaper deadlines. Come in. I'm glad you could make it tonight. I've got some important things I want to discuss with you."
"I'm sure there must be," Jack said. "My, you look very cool and collected for a fellow with the weight of the football world on his shoulders. How do you do it, anyway?"
Ron smiled. "If that we
