“It isn’t prejudice,” was his defense. “The facts speak for themselves. If he is Hazelton, of Princeton, playing here under a false name, he’s dishonest.” “Then I don’t believe he is Hazelton, at all.” They had stopped at the cottage steps. “I have wired for proof,” he said grimly. “I did so Monday, and I’ll know positively before long. Already, however, I am quite satisfied; for if the man isn’t Hazelton why should Riley make such a claim? And why doesn’t Henry Cope deny it?” “I didn’t think it of you!” she cried, her face flushed and her eyes scornful. “I didn’t think you would do such a thing, Benton King.” “I wished to satisfy myself regarding the man’s honesty,” he explained, still standing on the defensive. “I had no intention of making public such knowledge as I might obtain about him. I’ll own up that I did mean to tell you, for I wished you to know just what sort of a person he is. You’re altogether too interested in him, Janet, and I care too much for you to see you fooled by a fellow of his character.” She tossed her head. “I think your motive was purely personal.” “Janet!” he exclaimed reproachfully. “I can’t help it! I can’t help thinking so! I won’t believe Tom Locke is deceptive, dishonest, crooked; and it seems that is what he must be if he, a college man, is playing here for money under a false name.” “Just so. And, as he happens to be coming down the street this minute, we’ll put him to the test. Will you let me ask him a few questions before you?” She had turned swiftly to look; her face lost some color as she saw Locke, accompanied by two other players, all in uniforms, coming that way. They had been at the field for morning practice, and, after making a cut across lots, were following that street back into town. As Janet hesitated, doubtful, and ready to hurry into the house, King again sought permission to interrogate the man while she listened. “If you will leave it to me,” he promised, “I’ll not embarrass you by giving him reason to believe we have had a discussion about him.” “Very well,” said the girl faintly, standing her ground. Locke and his companions lifted their caps as they drew near, and Bent, unsmiling, lifted his hat. In a cold voice, he called: “O, Locke, I say, would you mind stopping a moment?” A flicker of surprise passed over Lefty’s face. He stopped, and his companions went on. “How do you do, Mr. Locke?” said Janet, in a voice which she tried hard to keep steady. “I didn’t see you at the game Tuesday, Miss Harting,” said the pitcher. “I wasn’t there. I should have enjoyed it, but father is opposed to the game, and objects to my attending.” “You will be missed.”