"Is he a player?" Joe inquired.
"No. I'm inclined to think he's a gambler. I know he was always wanting to make bets on the games around here, but no one paid much attention to him. You don't know him; do you?"
"Never saw him before, as far as I recollect," returned Joe slowly. "I wonder why he wanted to pick a quarrel with me? For that was certainly his object."
"It was," agreed Reggie, "and he didn't pay much attention to you until he heard your name."
"I wonder if he could be——?" began Joe, and then he hesitated in his half-formed question. Reggie looked at his friend inquiringly, but Joe did not proceed.
"Don't say anything about this to the girls," requested Joe, as they went upstairs.
"Oh, no, of course not," agreed Reggie. "He was only some loafer, I expect, who had a sore head. Best to keep it quiet."
Joe was more upset by the incident than he liked to admit. He could not understand the man's motive in trying so hard to force him into a fight.
"Not that I would be afraid," reasoned Joe, for he was in good condition, and in splendid fighting trim, due to his clean living and his outdoor playing. "I think I could have held my own with him," he thought, "only I don't believe in fighting, if it can be avoided.
"But there was certainly something more than a little quarrel back of it all. Wessel is his name; eh? I must remember that."