"You scoundrel, you've been talking about me---telling lies about me," young Ripley uttered hoarsely. "I hain't told nothing about ye," retorted Tip stolidly. "But this rich man's cop (detective) nabbed me the first thing this morning. He took me up inter yer father's office, an' asked me whether I'd let _him_ explore my clothes, or whether I'd rather have a policeman called in. He 'splained that, if he had to call the poor man's cop, I'd have to be arrested for fair. So I let him go through my clothes. He found four five-spots on me, and told me I'd better wait an' see yer father. So I'm here, an' not particular a bit about having to go up to the penitentiary for another stretch." "It hasn't been necessary, Fred, to question Scammon very far," broke in the elder Ripley. "That'll do, now, Haight. Since Scammon volunteered to give the money back, and said he didn't know it had been stolen, you can turn him loose." The detective and Tip had no more than gone when Lawyer Ripley, his face flushed with shame, wheeled about on his son. "So you see, Fred, what your word of honor the word of a Ripley---is sometimes worth. You have been robbing me steadily. How much you have taken I do not know as I have not always counted or recorded money that I put in the safe." Fred's face had now taken on a defiant look. He saw that his father did not intend to be harsh, so the boy determined to brave it out. "Haven't you anything to say?" asked the lawyer, after a brief silence. "No," retorted Fred, sulkily. "Not after you've disgraced me by putting a private detective on my track. It was shameful." That brought the hot blood rushing to his father's face. "Shameful, was it, you young reprobate? Shameful to you, when you have been stealing for weeks, if not for months? It is you who are dead to the sense of shame. Your life, I fear, young man, cannot go on as it has been going. You are not fitted for a home of wealth and refinement. You have had too much money, too easy a time. I see that, now. Well, it shall all change! You shall have a different kind of home." Fred began to quake. He knew that his father, when in a mood like this, was not to be trifled with. "You---you don't mean jail?" gasped the boy with a yellow streak in him. "No; I don't; at least, not this time," retorted his father. "But, let me see. You spoke of an engagement to do something this afternoon. What was it?" "_I was_ to have pitched in the game against Cedarville High School." "Go on, then, and do it," replied his father. "I---I can't pitch, now. My nerves are too-----" "Go on and do what you're pledged to do!" thundered Lawyer Ripley, in a tone which Fred knew was not to be disregarded. So the boy started for the door. "And while you are gone," his father shot after him, "I will think out my plan for changing your life in such a way as to save whatever good may be in you, and to knock a lot of foolish, idle ideas out of your head!"