“What on earth could have been the matter, Joe?” asked Jim. “Could it have been a case of ptomaine poisoning? All the doctor was sure of was that it was a drug or poison of some kind. What have you been eating?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” answered Joe. “In fact I just had a couple of sandwiches and an omelet for lunch. And coffee,” he added, and then as a sudden thought struck him he sat up straight in bed.
“I had some coffee with Bugs Hartley,” he added, slowly. “And it was Bugs that put the cream and sugar in both cups.”
They looked at each other for a full minute without speaking.
“I see a great light,” said Jim at last. “The first thing I shall do is to hunt up Hartley and thrash him within an inch of his life.”
“No, don’t do that,” said Joe, earnestly. “We haven’t positive proof, and it’ll only bring scandal on the game. I’ll be as well as ever in a day or two. The worst of it is that I’m afraid McRae thought I had been drinking.”
“He must know better than that,” replied Jim, indignantly. “But just to make sure I’ll give him a quiet tip as to the real state of things.”
“I certainly felt sore to be batted out of the box,” said Joe, his thoughts reverting to the game. “What was the score, anyway?”
Jim hesitated a second.