“Well, I got kind of sorry for the poor old jack-rabbit. He told me all about it, and swore up and down he hadn’t meant any harm; that he wanted to try what he could do against some good men at the mile, and hadn’t cared a hang about the money. ‘But what did you use Ware’s name for?’ says I. ‘Wasn’t your own bad enough?’ ‘Because,’ says he, ‘I didn’t want my folks to know about it; they live there in Brooklyn, and might have seen my name in the paper next day. I didn’t think about making myself ineligible,’ says he, ‘and I didn’t think I was doing Ware any harm.’ Well, that may be a lie, but he was sure in the dumps, and so I agreed to make things easy for him. ‘You write it all out in black and white and sign your name to it,’ says I, ‘and if I can I’ll keep dark about it. If Allan gets a message from his aunt, all right; if he doesn’t, I show your document to Nast. I’ll wait till the two-mile is called.’ Bully for you, Hal! That’s three, ain’t it? Sure! Hit it out, Seven!” “You see,” he went on, after the nines had changed places and the Erskine captain had seized his bat, “you see, I didn’t want to be any harder on Rindgely than I had to. He said if the faculty got hold of it they’d be sure to either bounce him bodily or hold up his diploma. Well, I guess they would, all right, eh?” “Sure to,” answered Tommy, promptly, as he marked the first man out at first, scored an assist to the credit of the opposing pitcher and a put-out to that of the Brown’s first-baseman. “So that’s the way we fixed it up. And I hope Allan gets word from auntie, for I’m blessed if I want Rindgely to get kicked out without graduating. It would be hard luck for a chap to do four years at hard labor here and then slip up just when he was going to grab the prize, wouldn’t it?” “Hardest kind of luck,” said Tommy. “Hope you don’t have to show the confession.” Erskine went out in one, two, three order and the eighth inning commenced. The band was doing gallant work and Pete found conversation beyond his powers until the last strains of a lively two-step had died away. By that time the Brown’s second man had been retired, and Robinson’s hopes were dwindling fast. “Is he going to run this afternoon?” asked Tommy. Pete shook his head. “No; you see, I couldn’t let him do that; it would be against the law; if Allan couldn’t run he couldn’t, and that’s certain.” “No, he hasn’t any right to,” said Tommy, thoughtfully. “He’s plainly ineligible because he ran for money; and then, there would be other reasons.” “Well, that’s the way I figured it out,” said Pete, with a note of relief in his voice. He was glad to have his decision supported by some one who knew more about such things. “But he saw himself that it was all up with him as a runner. He said he’d be sick to-day, and, as he wasn’t at breakfast, I guess he is. I’ll bet Dr. Prentiss will have a hard time finding out what’s wrong with him.” And Pete chuckled wickedly.