“Not always,” asserted Hal. “In some cases a fellow has to find where it started and choke it off there.” There was no small surprise among the cadets when Darrell appeared on the field the following afternoon in a baseball suit. Already it had been whispered about that, through his deliberate crookedness, Fardale had nearly lost the game at Fairport. If Darrell observed the indignant glances bestowed upon him he made no sign. That night Anson Day stopped Dick near the gymnasium. “See here, Captain Merriwell,” said the chairman of the athletic committee, “I have a question to ask you.” “All right,” smiled Dick. “Ask away.” “You used Darrell in practice to-day, I observed.” “Yes.” “Do you trust him?” “Yes.” “You do?” “Yes.” “But, great Scott! you’re not blind, and the boys are saying that Darrell tried to throw the game at Fairport. Didn’t you see anything suspicious?” “No matter what I saw, Day, I am satisfied that Hal Darrell is loyal to Fardale and will do his level best to win if he plays Wednesday.” “Then you mean to play him, do you?” “Some one must fill Gardner’s place.” “There are others.” “No other man as good as Darrell.” “I am afraid you’re making a mistake, Merriwell,” said Day, seriously shaking his head. “I am not the only one who thinks so.” “Wait. Wednesday you shall see that I am making no mistake. Darrell will prove it.” CHAPTER XXI. DARRELL REDEEMS HIMSELF. Never had any visiting team been more confident of success on Fardale field than was Fairport when she faced the cadets on Wednesday. The assurance of her supporters was demonstrated by the large number of rooters who came with the team. Both sides lined up for the contest just as they had on Saturday. For Fardale, Darrell was again at short, in spite of suspicions and doubts. Fairport went first to bat. “No shower to-day!” laughed Roberts, as Crockett walked out to the plate, his bat on his shoulder. “There will be no such good luck for poor old Fardale!” “Dern your picter!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs. “Mebbe you will be wishing for a shower before this game is over.” Dick was in the pitcher’s box. “Right off—start right off, captain!” cried Black, from left field. “Put hit hover!” urged Billy. “’E can’t ’it hanything!” “Try his eye, old boy—try his eye!” urged Darrell. “He is a mark,” averred Singleton. “Right there, pard—right there!” said Buckhart, holding up his mitt. Chester Arlington and Mel Fraser were sitting side by side. Chester smiled derisively, and observed: “For a dead cold fact, Merriwell beats anything I ever saw. I reckoned he would be furious with Darrell, but he is letting the fellow into this game. Wouldn’t that give you chilblains?” “Do you suppose he knows what Darrell tried to do?” asked Mel Fraser. “Oh, he has sense enough to know that!” “Then why has he given him another show?” “Ask me! I will never tell. There they go!”