“Are we quite sure he did cheat?” asked the Babe.
“Personally, I am,” said Broxton, “aren’t you, Anstruther?”
“Good Lord, yes.”
“Well, what’s to be done?” asked the Babe.
“The men who play with him ought to know,” said Anstruther.
The Babe got up, and threw his torn-up I O U’s into the fire.
“Rot,” he said. “We can’t possibly be certain. And I’m not going to ask him to play again in order to watch him. That seems to me perhaps one degree lower than cheating oneself. It’s our own fault, as Jim said, for asking him.”
“My dear Babe, we can’t leave it as it is.”
“No, I don’t want to do that. I only meant that we couldn’t tell other people what we suspected, unless we were certain, and not even then. And we can’t be certain unless we play with him again, and that I don’t mean to do.”
“What do you propose to do then?”