King shrugged his shoulders.
“Why so? A college player who goes into the game professionally deserves no sympathy if exposed. He’s crooked, and he has no right ever again to appear on his college nine.”
“I don’t believe Lefty would do anything crooked,” she declared stoutly. “He has an honest face. You’re prejudiced against him, Bent.”
“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.”