Tom, with a fierce feeling in his heart, put his men through a hard practice previous to a game with the scrub team, and the men seemed to wake up. Pete Backus surprised his chums and himself by knocking a home run. "That's the stuff!" cried Tom. "Work like that wins games," added the coach, brightening up a bit. Tom and Phil, in tacit agreement with the rest of the athletic set, had avoided mentioning Sid's disgrace, but coming home from practice that afternoon, Tom, seeing his chum, curled up in the old armchair, studying, could not help remarking: "What in the world did you do it for, old man? You've put us in a fierce hole." "I'm sorry," spoke Sid contritely. "Why don't you explain?" asked Phil. "I can't." "You mean there's nothing to explain?" queried Tom. "You can put it that way, if you like. I wish you fellows would let me alone." "That's all right, Sid," went on Tom, "but when we count on you to play on the team--and when we need you--to go back on us this way--it's not----" "Oh, let me alone; will you?" burst out the unfortunate one. "Haven't I got troubles enough? You know it hurts me, as much as it does you, not to play. Don't I want to see Randall win?" "Doesn't look much like it," mumbled Phil. "Say, look here," exploded Sid, "if you fellows don't want me here any longer, just say so, and I'll get out." He sprang to his feet, and faced his chums, a look on his face they had never seen there before. It brought to them a realization of what it all meant, though they could not understand it. "Oh, hang it all, we're getting too serious!" declared Tom. "Of course, we want you to stay here--we wouldn't know what to do if you left us. Only it's tough on the team." "Glad you appreciate my abilities," remarked Sid, with a little softening of his manner. "I'm as much broken up over it as you are. All I can say is there's been a big mistake, and all I ask for is a suspension of judgment." "But if it's a mistake, why can't you tell?" insisted Phil. "I can't, that's all. You'll have to worry along without me. I hear Pete is doing good." "Oh, yes, fair," admitted Tom, "but he isn't as sure a batter as you are. We need you, Sid." "Well, I'm sorry--that's all. It may be explained--some day, but not now," and Sid fell to studying again. "I don't like this," remarked Tom to Phil, a few days later, following some practice the day before the game with Michigan, a team that had won a name for itself on the diamond. "Don't like what, Tom?" "The way some of our team are playing and acting. They seem to think any old kind of baseball will do. They play fine--at times--then they go to pieces. Then, too, there seems to be a sort of clique forming in the nine and among some of the subs. There's too much sporting around, and staying out nights. Too many little suppers and smokers." "Leighton doesn't kick--why should you?"