“A person who makes up his mind to do right in the future, and is sincere about it, seldom hesitates to admit his errors or mistakes of the past. There are always willing hands to help one who thus proves his sincere change of heart. I hope before it is too late I may yet receive the evidence that some of you are sincerely repentant and sincerely determined henceforth to avoid such mistakes. You are dismissed.” The old man puttered around, gathering up his books and papers and locking his desk. When he was ready to leave he found himself alone in the big room. “Ah, well!” he muttered; “it’s hard for them. I’m afraid I haven’t sufficient influence. I’m afraid I failed to make my words convincing.” Outside, the members of the ball team had turned toward the nearby field for practice, but they were not talking of baseball. The knowledge that Roy Hooker had been engaged in a card game for money caused their tongues to wag vigorously. Speculation was rife as to where the game had taken place and who had been concerned in it. Several of them, while pretending ignorance, knew very well indeed, and at least one who was not in the secret was inclined to believe he could make a good guess at the truth. Jack Nelson had not forgotten that Roy Hooker was one of the trio in Hyde’s livery stable, after the return from Wyndham, to whom Ned Osgood had said that he would see them later. But, having nothing further on which to base his surmisal, and never dreaming how much Billy Piper knew, Nelson refrained from hints or accusations. Perhaps in this he was supported by the belief that, taking into consideration the benching of Osgood in Saturday’s game, it might seem that he had a pronounced animus against the fellow were he to suggest that Ned knew more than he was disposed to tell. “As Prof said,” thought Nelson, “it’s bound to come out, and I won’t make any blunder if I keep my mouth shut.” One thing he did not understand was why Piper, knowing certain fellows met regularly Saturday evenings in Osgood’s rooms, seemed to show so little interest in the matter. It was wholly unlike Billy, who heretofore had displayed the most eager disposition to probe anything which bore on its face the tag of mystery. Even Piper’s protestation that he was done with such things and would play the detective no more did not seem to be an adequate excuse for his apathy. “It’s all mighty queer,” decided Jack, as, taking little part in the talk of the boys around him, he got into his uniform in the gymnasium. “Osgood doesn’t seem at all worried, but his friend Shultz is altogether too gay to be natural. It’s not like him. Well, if they’re concerned, they’re in deep, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the nine lost a couple of good players.” CHAPTER XVI THE FACE AT THE WINDOW.