looked somewhat boyish—particularly so at a distance, upon the baseball field—upon closer inspection it appeared more manly and seemed to possess a certain sort of dignity. Surely there was nothing common or ordinary about the fellow.
"Pardon me, Locke," said Bent, "but—do you know?—you've puzzled me a bit!"
"Really? In what manner?"
"At first sight of you, last Saturday, I felt that I had seen you somewhere before. I'm sure of it now."
"I don't recall ever having seen you outside of this town."
"That's not strange. I'm not a baseball player, although I am a Harvard man. Yes, there's no doubt about it, I have seen you."
"When?" asked Locke, as if the question came from unwilling lips. "Where?"
"At Cambridge," asserted King, keeping his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the other man's face, "a year ago this past spring, when Princeton played Harvard. You did not pitch, but you were on the Princeton bench."
There was a hush, in which Bent, still keeping his eyes fixed on Locke's face, could hear Janet breathing quickly through her parted lips. His heart leaped, for Lefty was faltering, and it
