"That's right," agreed the pitcher, "and he's not allowed any more passes since that affair with the pocket flask. He's taking chances to slip out. Zane will be almost sure to catch him, and a few turns like that and Sid will be expelled. I wonder what's gotten into him lately?" "Give it up," responded Phil. "Let's hope that he won't be nabbed." It was a vain hope, for Sid, coming into college about three o'clock that morning, was detected by the proctor. There was quite a stir over it, and Sid came mighty near expulsion. Only his fine scholarship saved him, but he was warned that another offense would be fatal to his chances. Sid said nothing to his chums, but maintained a gloomy reserve, which wore off in a few days, but still left a cloud between them. Meanwhile Tom was kept busy with his studies and his interest in the nine, while Phil was "boning" away, seeking a scholarship prize, and devoting as much time as he could to practice on the diamond. Sid, barred from participation in regular games, was, however, allowed to practice with the 'varsity, and play on the scrub as suited his fancy, and Tom was glad to have him do either, for he cherished a secret hope that the ban might be removed before the end of the term, and he wanted Sid to keep in form. As for the second baseman he was becoming a "crackerjack" wielder of the stick, and at either right or left hand work was an example to be looked up to by the younger players, and his average something to be sighed after. It happened one afternoon, a few days prior to an important out-of-town game Tom's nine was to play, that the captain came upon Ed Kerr, the manager, busy figuring, in a corner of the gymnasium, his brow as wrinkled as a washboard. "What's the row?" asked Tom. "Conic sections or a problem in trig, Ed?" "It's a problem in finance," was the response. "Ferd Snowden, the treasurer, has just handed me a statement of how the nine's finances are, and, for the life of me I can't see how it happened." "How what happened." "The shortage." "Shortage?" and there was a frightened note in Tom's voice. "Yes, shortage. I thought we were running along pretty well, but according to Snowden we're in debt to him about ten dollars, for money he's advanced from his own pocket. He says he can't afford any more, and--well, it means we can't play Richfield Saturday." "Why not?" "Because we haven't money enough to take the team out of town, and back again. Besides, Dutch needs a new catching mitt. I don't see how it happened. I thought we were making money." "So did I. Let's go have a talk with Snowden." The treasurer of the nine could only confirm his statement. He showed by figures that the amount of money taken in had not met the expenses, so far. "The crowds haven't been what they ought to have been," Snowden explained. "Randall isn't drawing as it used to." "We're playing better ball," fired Tom at him.