“At first sight of you, last Saturday, I felt that I had seen you somewhere before. I’m sure of it now.”
“I don’t recall ever having seen you outside of this town.”
“That’s not strange. I’m not a baseball player, although I am a Harvard man. Yes, there’s no doubt about it, I have seen you.”
“When?” asked Locke, as if the question came from unwilling lips. “Where?”
“At Cambridge,” asserted King, keeping his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the other man’s face, “a year ago this past spring, when Princeton played Harvard. You did not pitch, but you were on the Princeton bench.”
There was a hush, in which Bent, still keeping his eyes fixed on Locke’s face, could hear Janet breathing quickly through her parted lips. His heart leaped, for Lefty was faltering, and it seemed that the girl must perceive the faint shade of dismay that passed over his face.
“I think you are mistaken,” said the pitcher, breaking the silence at last.
King laughed.
“You think so! Really? Then perhaps you will deny that you were there?”
“Yes.”