“Why do you ask me that?” retorted Gus.
“He seemed to be suffering from a peculiar trouble. He was deathly sick and then, in a little while, he was all right again. He put up a good game after he went in at short.”
“Do you think I had anything to do with his being sick?”
“I didn’t say you did. I just asked you if you knew what made him sick?”
“I suppose I’m to blame for that error Hodge made in the fifth inning too,” said Gus gruffly. “If anything goes wrong, then I’m the one to blame. I don’t know why all the fellows are down on me. I pitched my prettiest after Dan was—after he gave out. I’m to blame for losing the game too, I suppose.”
“We haven’t ‘blamed’ you for anything, Gus,” said Ned warmly. “You’re getting away off the track. All I asked you was whether or not you could give a guess about what made Walter sick. You have switched off on to something else and haven’t said a word about that.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Whatever you choose.”
“I don’t see why you suspect me of making Walter sick. What earthly reason would I have for wanting to get him out of the game?”
“Was there anyone you wanted to put out of the game?” Ned’s face was flushed and, as he looked straight at Gus while speaking, the latter was unable entirely to conceal his uneasiness.