"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!"
Fred's cheeks were ashen, his legs shaking under him as he left the house.
"I've never seen the guv'nor so worked up before—-at least, not about me," thought the boy wretchedly. "Now, what does he mean to do? I can't turn him a hair's breadth, now, from whatever 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.