As for Fenton, he was made aware, that very night, of the fact that his indiscrete conduct, to give it the mildest term, was common knowledge. He withdrew from college, fearing the just wrath of his classmates, but, lest the scandal might stand against the fair name of Randall, he was induced to come back. He was promised that no punishment would be meted out to him, and none was, in the common acceptance of that term. But his life was made miserable in more ways than one. The spring term was drawing to a close. With all the excitement attending the annual examinations there was mingled with it the anxiety about the baseball team, and Randall's chances for winning the championship, and the gold loving cup. The latter was placed on view in one of the Haddonfield stores, and daily a crowd of persons, including many students, could be seen in front of the place. "I wonder if we'll get it?" asked Tom of Phil, a few days before the final game with Fairview. "How are you on pitching?" asked Phil, for Tom had done little more than light practice since his accident. "All right, I think. My hand is in fair shape." "Pity you're not a southpaw, or else it's too bad you caught that ball," said Phil. "Nonsense. I can pitch all right, and I would have felt like leaving the team, if I had let that liner get past me, hot as it was. No, I'm not worrying from my end, though perhaps I should. It's our batting I'm alarmed about. Hang it all, if only Sid----" "There's no use going over that again," and Phil spoke quietly. "No, I presume not. Well, we've just got to win from Fairview." "Suppose it would do any good to tackle Sid again?" "I don't know. I'll try, if I get a chance. I wish I knew his secret." The chance came sooner than Tom or Phil expected it would. It was the evening of the day before the final game with Fairview. There had been hard practice in the afternoon, and though Tom found himself in good shape, and noted an improvement in his fielding forces, the batting was weak. He was tired, and not a little discouraged. His one thought was: "If I could only get Sid to play, it would strengthen the whole team. He would stiffen the rest of 'em up, and stiffening is all that some of them need. Oh--well, what's the use." Tom and Phil were alone in the room, discussing plans for the game the next day, when Sid entered. One look at his face showed that he was moody and out of sorts. He had been off on a tramp, after biology specimens, and with scarcely a word to his chums he began changing his field clothes for other garments. "Going out this evening?" asked Phil. "No. Guess not," was the rather short answer. "I've got to do some studying. What have you fellows got on the carpet?" "Rest," answered Tom, and after supper he returned to the apartment, and stretched out on the creaking sofa, while Phil occupied the easy chair. Sid was at his desk writing, when a knock came at the door.