He had but just come home, and it was never his custom to dash off in such an abrupt fashion. It was easy to see that he was annoyed about the school report. That was not strange--of course he would be. Peter was himself. But at least Mr. Coddington had not lost his place as pitcher of a ball team, and since he hadn't there seemed to be no reason why he should be so cut up. Then an inspiration came to the boy. Perhaps his father had gone to demand that Mr. Christopher take his son back on the nine. Ah, that must be it! His father was much interested in athletics Peter knew, and when in college had pulled the winning shell to a spectacular victory for his Alma Mater. His father would never stand by and see the star pitcher of the Milburn High School swept off the team just because of a few failures in Latin, algebra, and other such rubbish. Peter drew a sigh of relief. Yes, his fortunate star would rise again; he was confident of it. All would yet be well. He would tutor up for the examinations, pass them gloriously, and win back his place on the team. None of the fellows need be the wiser. His father would fix it up--nay, he probably was fixing it up at this very moment. Until dusk Peter waited anxiously for the sound of the motor's return. It was nearly seven when over the gravel rolled the heavy rubber-tired wheels that announced Mr. Coddington's arrival. The boy sat in precisely the spot where his father had left him and after alighting from the car the elder man made his way toward the motionless figure sitting so still in the June twilight. "I have been to see Mr. Christopher," began Mr. Coddington when he came within speaking distance, "and have made all the arrangements for your future career." Eagerly Peter looked up. "I'm going back on the team?" he cried joyously. "You are going to work!" was the sharp retort. "What!" "I have been very busy during the last two hours," continued Mr. Coddington. "I have got for you the first, last, and only job I shall ever get. It is up to you now." "But I don't understand," protested Peter, aghast. "Why not? It is not a difficult thing to comprehend. You have fooled away your days and my money long enough. Life is a serious business--not a game. It is time you took it in earnest. To-morrow morning at eight o'clock you are going to work, and you must make good at the position I've found for you, or you will lose your place. If you do I shall not lift a finger to help you to find another." A great lump rose in Peter's throat but he managed to choke it back. "Where am I going?" he gasped when he was able to speak. "To the tannery," was the laconic reply. If the clouds had fallen or the earth opened Peter could not have been more astounded. The tannery!