“Yes. Well, I never have had a trace of the stuff. I was hoping sis, here, wouldn’t know how I accused you—especially after the plucky way you saved her.”
“I thought it best to tell,” said the young pitcher, quietly.
“Oh, well, as you like,” and Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “It was certainly a queer go.”
“And I’m living in hope,” went on Joe, “that some day I’ll be able to prove that I had no hand in the matter.”
“Oh, of course you didn’t!” cried Mabel, impulsively. “It’s silly of you, Reggie, to think such a thing.”
“I don’t think it—now!”
But in spite of this denial Joe could not help feeling that perhaps, after all, Reggie Varley still had an undefined suspicion against him.
“I say!” exclaimed Joe’s one-time accuser, “won’t you dine with us? We have a nice waiter at our table——”
“I had already asked him,” broke in Mabel.