“What did I do?”
“When you changed your glass for his.”
“I’m sorry now that I did that.”
“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.”