Sid, barred from participation in regular games, was, however, allowed to practice with the ’varsity, and play on the scrub as suited his fancy, and Tom was glad to have him do either, for he cherished a secret hope that the ban might be removed before the end of the term, and he wanted Sid to keep in form. As for the second baseman he was becoming a “crackerjack” wielder of the stick, and at either right or left hand work was an example to be looked up to by the younger players, and his average something to be sighed after.
It happened one afternoon, a few days prior to an important out-of-town game Tom’s nine was to play, that the captain came upon Ed Kerr, the manager, busy figuring, in a corner of the gymnasium, his brow as wrinkled as a washboard.
“What’s the row?” asked Tom. “Conic sections or a problem in trig, Ed?”
“It’s a problem in finance,” was the response. “Ferd Snowden, the treasurer, has just handed me a statement of how the nine’s finances are, and, for the life of me I can’t see how it happened.”
“How what happened.”
“The shortage.”
“Shortage?” and there was a frightened note in Tom’s voice.
“Yes, shortage. I thought we were running along pretty well, but according to Snowden we’re in debt to him about ten dollars, for money he’s advanced from his own pocket. He says he can’t afford any more, and—well, it means we can’t play Richfield Saturday.”
“Why not?”