hatever
plan he may make. Why didn't I have more sense? Why didn't I
own up, and 'throw myself on the mercy of the court'?"

In his present mood the frightened boy knew he couldn't sit still
in a street car. So he walked all the way to the Athletic Field.
He was still shaking, still worried and pale when at length he
arrived there.

He walked into the dressing room. The rest of the nine and the
subs were already on hand, many of them dressed.

"You're late, Mr. Ripley," said Coach Luce, a look of annoyance
on his face.

Outside, the first of the fans on the seats were starting the
rumpus that goes under the name of enthusiasm.

"I---I know it. But---but---I---I'm sorry, Mr. Luce. I---I believe
I'm going to be ill. I---I know I can't pitch to-day."

So Coach Luce and Captain Purcell conferred briefly, and decided
that Dave Darrin should pitch to-day.

Darrin did pitch. He handled his tricky curves so well that puny
Cedarville was beaten by the contemptuous score of seventeen to
nothing.

Meanwhile, Fred Ripley was wandering about Gridley, in a state
of abject, hopeless cowardice.

CHAPTER XXI

DICK IS GENEROUS BECAUSE IT'S NATURAL

"Say, will you look at Rip?"

No wonder Harry Hazelton exploded with wonder as he turned to
Dan Dalzell and Greg Holmes.

In this warmer weather, the young men loitered in the school yard
until the first bell.

These three members of Dick & Co. were standing near the gateway
when Fred Ripley turned the nearest corner and came on nervously,
hurriedly, a hang-dog look in his face.

What had caught Harry Hazelton's eye, and now made his comrades
stare, was the new suit that Fred wore. Gone was all that young
man's former elegance of attire. His stern father had just left
the boy, after having taken him to a clothing store where Fred
was tricked out in a coarse, ready-made suit that had cost just
seven dollars and a half. A more manly boy would have made a
better appearance in such clothes, but it was past Fred Ripley.
And he was miserably conscious of the cheap-looking derby that
rested on his head. Even his shoes were new and coarse.

Ripley hurried by the chums, and across the yard, to be met at
the door by Purcell, who stared at him in candid astonishment.

"Oh, say, Rip!" demanded Purcell. "What's the bet?"

"Shut up!" retorted Ripley, passing quickly inside.

"Fine manners," grinned Purcell to a girl who had also paused,
impelled by excusable