"I can imagine what you said," laughed Swanson. "Did you kick him on the shins and try to make him fight?"
"I wanted to," replied McCarthy savagely. "I can't see where he gets into this affair at all. There's something queer all round."
"Listen, Kohinoor," said Swanson. "Someone wants to beat the Bears out of this pennant, and whoever it is is turning every trick possible to beat us. I suspect they've got to Williams and that he is trying to throw games, and I've been working all night trying to get the goods on him. We can't run to Clancy with a yarn like that unless we're ready to prove it. Now go to sleep and get ready to win to-morrow's game—to-day's, rather."
McCarthy lay staring, sleepless, into the darkness, his brain whirling as he strove to penetrate the maze of intrigue and plotting of which he seemed the center. Half an hour passed, then, as he turned in bed, a sleepy voice from the next bed asked:
"Asleep, Kohinoor?"
"No."
"Then quit worrying. I had a talk with Betty Tabor to-night, and you needn't worry. She don't believe all she hears."
"What did she say, Silent?" asked McCarthy, sitting up in bed suddenly.
"Aw, go to sleep," responded Swanson, as he rolled over, chuckling at the manner in which McCarthy had betrayed his interest.
It was nearly noon when Swanson and McCarthy descended to the hotel lobby in better frames of mind.