The deposed second baseman started, and half arose. Then he sat down again. "Well, aren't some of you going to answer it?" asked Tom. "I'm too tired to move." "Same here," added Phil, but, as he was nearer the portal than Sid, he got up, with much groaning, and opened the door. Wallops stood there. "A message for Mr. Henderson," he announced, and he handed Phil a letter. "Here! Give it to me!" cried Sid, almost snatching it from Phil's fingers. "I was just going to, old man," was the gentle answer, and it seemed as if Sid was afraid his chum would see the writing on the envelope. Sid tore open the epistle, read it at a glance, and tore it up, scattering the fragments in his waste paper basket. Then he strode over to his closet, and got out his coat and cap. "Going out?" asked Phil, politely interested. "Yes--I've got to," muttered Sid. Tom slowly arose from the old sofa, the boards on the back and front creaking dismally with the strain. "Sid," spoke Tom, and there was that in his voice which made Phil and Sid both look at the captain. "Sid, I'm going to make a last appeal to you." "No--don't," almost begged the second baseman, and he put up his arm, as though to ward off a blow. "Don't, Tom, I--I can't stand it." "You've got to!" insisted Tom, almost fiercely. "I've stood this long enough. It's not fair to yourself--not fair to the nine." "I don't know what you mean," and Sid tried to speak calmly. "Yes, you do," and by this time Tom was on his feet, and had walked over toward the door. "Yes, you do know. You received a note just now. There's no use in me pretending I don't know what it is, for I do." Sid started. "I mean," went on Tom, "that I know what it portends. I don't know who it's from, and I don't care; neither do I know what's in it. But I do know that it calls you out----" "Yes, I've got to go," murmured Sid, as though it was a summons from fate, and he could not avoid it. "You've got to do nothing of the sort!" cried Tom. "Don't go!" "I've got to, I tell you!" "To that gambling hall? To lose your money again? Haven't you manhood enough to say 'no'? Can't you stay away? Oh, Sid, why do you go? Why don't you be fair to yourself--fair to the nine? We need you!" Tom held out his hands appealingly. There was a mist before his eyes, and, he fancied, something glistened in those of his chum. Phil stood, a silent spectator of the little scene, and the clock ticked on relentlessly. "Don't you want to help us win?" asked Tom. "You know I do!" exclaimed Sid brokenly. "Then do it!" cried Tom, in ringing tones. "Break off this miserable life! Give up this gambling!" "I'm not gambling!" cried Sid, and he shrank back, as though Tom had struck him. "Dare you deny that you're going from here to the gambling den in Dartwell?" asked Tom, with flashing eyes. Sid was silent.