“I never heard all the particulars, only I know that dad invested his money, and he never got any return from it. Those Western horse dealers kept it, and the horses too.”
“But that was a year ago,” spoke Sid. “What’s new about it?”
“This,” replied Tom. “Dad brought suit at law against them to recover his money, and the case was just decided—against him.”
“Jove! That’s too bad!” exclaimed Sid. “But can’t he——?”
“Oh, dad’s appealed the case,” went on Tom, “but it’s this way, fellows. If he loses on the appeal I’ve got to quit Randall.”
“Quit Randall!” cried the three in chorus.
“Yes, quit Randall. There won’t be money enough to keep me here. I’ll have to go to work a year or so earlier than I expected to, and help support the family. That’s what dad writes to me about. He says I must not be disappointed if I have to come away at any time, and buckle down to hard work. He says he’s sorry, of course—but, hang it all, I don’t blame him a bit!” cried Tom, blowing his nose unnecessarily hard. “I really ought to go to work I suppose. And, if this suit on appeal goes against us, I will. It’s up to the judge of the higher court now, whether dad gets his money or not.”
“But you mustn’t leave Randall,” declared Phil. “We’re depending on you for the baseball nine.”
“Yes, and for track athletics,” added Sid. “There’s talk of forming a new league for track athletics, and that will mean a lot to Randall. You simply can’t go, Tom.”
“Well, I hope I don’t have to,” and the pitcher folded his letter thoughtfully, and put it in his pocket. “But if it has to be—it has to, that’s all. Let’s talk of something pleasant. What’s this about track athletics?”