“Well,” cried Neddie Ellis, cheerily, as the nine filed into Captain Hiram Porter’s room, which had been used as a rallying-place, as it was the largest assigned to any member of the club, “well, we have one more chance at the Calumets, and there is hope while there’s life. Hey, Larry?”

Larry did not immediately reply. He was regarding Ben Burton with suspicion. That individual had received a telegram from the hands of a messenger, as he came into the house, which, having read, he tore into very small pieces and threw away with a disturbed expression of countenance. Ben’s eyes were now fixed on Hiram, who, on coming into the room, had noticed on the mantelpiece a telegram addressed to himself. Ben Burton’s face grew white as his captain, tearing open the envelope, read the despatch with astonishment and wrath depicted on his usually pleasant visage.

“Read her out, Captain,” cried “The Lily.” “Read her out and let us divide the bad news with you. I’m sure it’s bad news, isn’t it, Neddie?”

Without stopping to consider whether it were discreet or not to divulge the message that was causing him so much perturbation, Hiram, casting a sharp glance at Ben Burton, said, “It is bad news, boys, for it accuses one of our number of treachery. It is from Tom Selby, and it reads thus:⁠—

Look out for Ben Burton; he has sold the game.

“It’s an infernal lie!” shouted Ben, passionately, and very red in the face, and shaky in the limbs. “What does Tom Selby know about the game, and how could I sell the game in Catalpa? I’ll thrash Tom Selby as quick as I get home; see if I don’t!”

“No you won’t,” said Albert Heaton, who entered the room at this moment. “No you won’t. Hear this, Mr. Burton. It’s a despatch from Dr. Selby, dated at Catalpa, 5:20 p.m. You see they had then got the news that the game was lost:⁠—

I am afraid you did not get Tom’s despatch to the captain, for we hear that the game is gone. Hunt up despatch to Hiram, sent to lodgings.

“What’s that despatch you’ve got there Hi? Is it Tom’s?”

“Yes,” answered the captain. “It is from Tom. Read it.”

Albert read the despatch deliberately and said: “I see it all now. My despatch was sent to Judge Morris’s office, where I found it when I stopped in there on my way back from seeing the ladies on board of a streetcar for the north side. Your despatch should have been sent to the ball grounds, and the idiots here have kept it until it was too late. Oh, this is too bad!” and Albert fairly groaned.

“They couldn’t tell what was in the despatch, Al,” said Larry, soothingly. “There’s no use crying over spilt milk. But what I should like is an explanation from Mr. Burton.”

All eyes were now turned on Burton, who defiantly faced his accusers. He was evidently determined to brave out the charge made against him from Catalpa. His cheek grew red and pale by turns, and he failed to keep the serenity that he attempted.

“See him shake,” said “The Lily,” with bitter contempt. “Did any man ever shake like that when he was innocent. Oh, no, Bennie did not play a muffing game, this afternoon, for nothing!”

“I tell you that’s a lie!” roared Ben, furious with rage. “Any man who says I threw the game is a slanderer and I’ll fight him. Any man would show feeling and shake, as you call it, Bill Van Orman, if accused of doing such a mean thing as selling out his club, and you know it.”

More in sorrow than in anger, Captain Hiram ordered the boys to drop the matter for the present. It could not be determined, in the absence of specific testimony, what amount of truth would be found in the startling charge made against a member of the club. They must wait until they reached home, he said, before it would be worth while to take any steps in the matter. Meantime, he would advise (but not order) that the members of the club drop the business and say nothing about it, especially not to any outsider.

It was good advice that the captain gave, and the members of the club all followed it so far as speaking of the matter to outsiders was concerned. It was asking too much that they should not talk it over among themselves. By common consent, however, Ben Burton was avoided by all hands. He stood about the house until after supper, then, without leaving any word as to his intentions, he quietly disappeared and was seen no more.

“What a wretched streak of luck!” murmured Larry Boyne to Neddie Ellis. “If that despatch had been sent to Al Heaton, or to Hiram at the ball grounds, all would have been well. We could have withdrawn Ben Burton and put Will Sprague, or Al Heaton, in his place, before the game began. Oh, why did Tom do such a foolish thing as to send the message here?”

“Tom is an idiot!” said Neddie, indignantly. “He’s a feather-head; always was, and always will be! Let’s look at that despatch again, captain.”

Critical examination of the message showed that it was received in Chicago at half-past one o’clock. It had left Catalpa at half-past eleven o’clock in the forenoon.

“Two hours to send that little message!” almost shrieked Neddie Ellis. “It’s that giddy, flirting girl that works the telegraph office in Catalpa! That’s what’s the matter with the message. Now you just remember that, boys.”

“Softly! softly! Neddie,” said Larry. “You mustn’t accuse the operator. Perhaps the line was down, or somebody else blundered. At any rate, the mischief is done. We’ll wait until we get home before we try to find out what it all means.”

“Aha!” cried “The Lily,” as if he had seen a sudden burst of light. “Now we know why Ben was late in the field. Don’t you remember he stole out after we had got through practicing, this noon, and was gone half an hour, or so? Where was he? Why, he looked as if he had been stealing sheep when he came back. I’ll tell you where he had been. He had been to the telegraph office on the corner below the grounds, telegraphing to some confederate in Catalpa.”

“Smart boy, Bill; but why should he go to the next block below the grounds when there is an office in the building? And how could his telegram to his confederate, if he has one, get back here in Tom Selby’s message?”

“That’s more than I know, Cap, but I should say that he wouldn’t dare to send any crooked message from the ball grounds, where he is known.”

“There is good sense in that, Billy boy,” said Charlie King, who had joined the party while the discussion was going on. “There is plausibility in it, too, for I remember seeing Ben go into that office and make some inquiries, as we were going to the grounds, day before yesterday, to practice.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Heaton was trying to comfort the young ladies in Judge Morris’s family, but his well-meant efforts were discouragingly received by the fair champions of the Catalpa club. Miss Alice was perfectly certain, she averred, that Ben Burton had purposely thrown the game. She had watched him narrowly, and had been, at times, half inclined to send down word to Mr. Boyne, or to the captain, rather (and this was said with a blush), that Burton was playing false. The players could not see it, but she could, and she knew him so well that she could not keep her eyes off him while he was playing, whether it was in the field, at the bat, or base-running.

Later in the evening, Albert came in with two or three of the Catalpa men, bearing the doleful news from Tom Selby. “Didn’t I tell you so?” demanded Alice, with animation. “Didn’t I tell you, Larry Boyne, to beware of that young man?”

“You did indeed, Miss Howell,” replied Larry, with mock dejection. “And we would have looked out for him, as you suggested, if we had had any tangible suspicion, or any proof whatsoever, that he was crooked. But how could we make a stand against one of our own number, merely on so vague a hint as that which we had?”

“If I were a member of the Catalpa club,” said the girl, with spirit, “I would not have so evil a young man as Ben Burton in it, evidence or no evidence.”

“Miss Alice is right,” said Neddie Ellis, “I always did dislike Ben Burton, and I would have voted against him, if it had not been that he was such a good man at shortstop that I couldn’t think of putting my little prejudices against what seemed to be the good of the nine.”

Once more it was agreed that it was useless to discuss the matter until the party had reached home, when the charges against Burton, and the evidence, if there were any, would be brought up in due form.

By the time the players and their friends had embarked on the westbound train, next day, they had recovered somewhat their usual high spirits. The buoyancy of youth and the natural hopefulness of healthy young fellows like these came to their relief, and the gay, chattering party that took possession of one end of a railway car, that morning, could hardly have been compared with the depressed and angry knot of youngsters that had discussed defeat and treachery, the night before. If they had been sold out, they argued to themselves, and had still fairly held their own against the famed Calumets, what was not possible for the team when purged of an unworthy member?

So they neared home with hearts lightened of a grievous burden and were once more cheered with the reflection that they had achieved one notable victory, at least, since their departure for Chicago, although a defeat counterbalanced that triumph.

And when the train drew up before the Catalpa depot, the returning adventurers were gladdened by the sight of innumerable flags flying over the town in the distance. They were to be received with congratulations, after all, not as humiliated captives.

“That is because we come home neck and neck, I s’pose,” said “The Lily,” as the notes of a brass band startled his ample ear.

“It’s because we are not so badly off as we might be, Billy boy,” replied Larry Boyne.