Jack did not answer. With a heavy heart he went to his room, where he sat for some time in the dark, thinking of his parents in far-off China. “I wish I could go and find them,” he said. “Maybe they need help. I wonder if the professor’d let me go?” But, even as that idea came to him, he knew it would be useless to propose it to Mr. Klopper. “He’s got enough of money that dad left for my keep, to pay my passage,” the boy mused on. “But if I asked for some for a steamship ticket he’d begin to figure what the interest on it for a hundred years would be, and then he’d lecture me about being a spendthrift. No, I’ll have to let it go, though I do wish I could make a trip abroad. If I could only earn money enough, some way, I’d go to China and find dad and mom.” But even disquieting and sad thoughts can not long keep awake a healthy lad, and soon Jack was slumbering. He was up early the next morning, and, as usual, accompanied the professor to church. The best part of the afternoon he was forced to spend in reading a book on what boys ought to do, written by an old man who, if ever he was a healthy, sport-loving lad, must have been one so many years ago that he forgot that he ever liked to have fun once in a while. Jack was glad when night came, so he could go to bed again. “To-morrow I’ll see the boys,” he thought to himself. “They’ll want to know why I didn’t come to play ball, and I’ll have to tell them the real reason. I’m getting so I hate Professor Klopper!” If Jack had known what was to happen the next day, he probably would not have slept so soundly. CHAPTER V A SERIOUS ACCUSATION “Hey, Jack, where were you Saturday?” asked Tom Berwick, as our hero came into the school yard Monday morning. “We had a dandy game,” he went on. “Your catching glove is nifty!” “Yes, Fred Walton played short,” added Sam Morton. “We waited as long as we could for you. What was the matter?” “The professor made me stay home because I skipped out the night before to go to the show.” “Say, he’s a mean old codger,” was Tom’s opinion, which was echoed by several other lads. “Is Fred going to play shortstop regularly?” asked Jack, of Tom Berwick, who was captain of the Academy nine. “I don’t know. He wants to, but I’d like to have you play there, Jack. Still, if you can’t come Saturdays----” “Oh, I’ll come next Saturday all right. Can’t we have a little practice this afternoon?” “Sure. You can play then, if you want to. Fred has to go away, he said.” The boys had a lively impromptu contest on the diamond when school closed that afternoon, and Jack proved himself an efficient player at shortstop. It was getting dusk when he reached the professor’s house, and the doughty old college instructor was waiting for him. “Did I not tell you to come home early, in order that I might test you in algebra?” he asked Jack. “Yes, sir. But I forgot about it,” which was the truth for, in the excitement over the game, Jack had no mind for anything but baseball.