“I might refuse to accept another cent of it in that case,” replied Ralph, sturdily.
“While I can understand how you feel about that, let me caution you to go slow about looking a gift horse in the mouth. An education is priceless, and even if the money came from some distasteful source, you could still receive it and make up your mind to positively return it some day.”
“Thank you, sir; that is what I meant to do, anyway,” said Ralph.
“Meanwhile say nothing about this. When I hear from Jim I’ll have another talk with you. Perhaps he may see fit to confide enough to me so that I can at least ease your mind. And, Ralph, consider that this is something of a second home to you. We have all grown to like you very much, my lad.”
Ralph could not reply, for he seemed too full of sentiment for utterance; but he squeezed the hand Mr. Allen gave him, and his look was eloquent enough.
On the following week there was little talked of at school but that wonderful game at Bellport. The next one, on the following Saturday, would be played on the Columbia grounds; and the third as dictated by fortune in the way of a tossed coin.
Lef Seller was green with envy at the praise he heard concerning the masterly way Frank had pitched.
“Just as if nobody ever won a game before. Huh! there are half a dozen to my credit, and some of ’em as hot as that one. But did you ever hear of the old school going crazy over my work. I guess not! But that Allen—oh, splash! I get sick hearing the mention of his name!”
That was the way he talked to his two cronies. Bill Klemm and Tony Gilpin, after school was out, about the middle of the week.
Lef was sure of sympathy in this quarter, and it did much to bolster up his resolution to get even with Frank, no matter what happened.