“I don’t see why you should be. If he’s sick, it’s his own fault. If he can’t play on the nine to-day I’ll put Sam Ventnor at short. He’s almost as good as Walter anyway. If Walter could play short just half as well as he thinks he can he’d get the fielding average of the league.” “I wish he’d come,” said Dan. “Don’t worry. If he doesn’t come it will be because he has been studying harder than he ever has in his life before.” “I don’t know what you mean.” “Why, all I mean is that if he is taking a dose of his own medicine he will be the better off for it. If he isn’t taking it, then you’ve nothing to worry about as far as I can see.” The dressing-room was well filled now, and it became difficult to carry on conversation. The excited boys were all striving to appear indifferent, but their attempts were not altogether successful. Neither Gus nor Walter had come and their absence was beginning to be noticed. “What has become of Gus and Walter?” inquired Hodge as he drew on his shoes. “I never knew either of them to be late at a game.” “They’ll show up,” said Smith. “Or down,” suggested Ned. “What’s the difference?” asked Smith lightly. “It’s all one to me.” “There’s a big difference.” “I don’t see it.” “Well, suppose you should go into a hotel and ask the clerk for the price of rooms――――” “I’ve done that many a time. I was in the Gorton last Easter vacation――――” “What did he tell you?” “Who――the clerk? He said they had rooms from two dollars up.” “Well, now suppose he had said, after he’d looked you over, that in your case the price of rooms would be two down. Would that make any difference, Smith?” “Yes,” laughed Smith. “I think it would. But I don’t see――――” “Here comes Gus Kiggins!” broke in one of the nine. “Walter is his shadow, and he can’t be very far away. Hello, Gus!” he added. “What made you late? Where’s Walter?” “He’s sick,” replied Gus gruffly as he began to don his suit. “Sick!” exclaimed Hodge, as he and the other members of the nine crowded about Gus. “What’s the matter with him?” “Ask somebody who knows!” retorted Gus, as he looked angrily at Dan. “I can’t tell you.” “Won’t he be able to play?” asked Ned. “That’s more than I know. There wasn’t anybody to stand by him, so I stayed with him in his room till just now. He has been vomiting and he’s lying on his bed now. His face is as white as chalk.” Gus glared at Dan while he was speaking, until the others also turned and looked questioningly at the young pitcher. “Did Dan make him sick?” “Ask him. He can tell you better than I can,” growled Gus. “Dan, did you do anything to him?” Ned asked quizzically as he turned to his friend. “What could I do?” replied Dan, his face betraying his trouble. “Did you send for a doctor?” asked Hodge of Gus. “No. Walter wouldn’t let me.” “Why not?” inquired Ned. “He said he’d be all right in a little while.” “Probably something he ate,” suggested Hodge. “Or drank,” said Ned in a low voice.