to save him
from such company and such practices!"

Then he thought of the money he had lost. How could he stop without
making an effort to win it back? If he could have one good streak of
luck and win enough to make himself square, he would stop.

This very desire to "get square with the game" has been the ruin of
more than one promising youth.

So he told himself over and over that he would stop as soon as he "got
square."

Saturday came round. Inza Burrage had sent him word through her
brother that she would visit Belinda Snodd that afternoon, and he might
see her there, if he cared to call.

Belinda Snodd was the daughter of John Snodd, a rather queer old
fellow, who ran an odd sort of boarding-house for summer people who
visited the Cove, on which Fardale Academy was situated. Snodd each
year boarded a number of applicants for admission to the academy until
they had prepared themselves for examination and been accepted or
turned away. Frank had boarded there when he first came to Fardale,
and so he knew the family well.

But how could he meet Inza that afternoon? He was in no mood to meet
her. She had regarded him as a hero--as being very near perfection.
If she knew the truth----

"I can't do it!" Frank muttered. "Not till I face about squarely can I
see her again."

But, as the afternoon came round, he was seized by a great longing to
catch a glimpse of her, at least. Mechanically he began dressing, as
if he were going to call on her.

Hodge was reading a book. He flung it aside, with an impatient
exclamation that was followed by a yawn.

"I'm tired of that old thing!" he cried. "I am tired of everything!"

"You need a rest, Bart," said Frank. "You are not getting enough
sleep."

"I am getting as much as you. I say, Frank, don't you think living is
a bore, anyway?"

"Not when a fellow lives right."

"Right? What do you mean by that? Isn't a chap to have any sport?"

"Yes; but there are two kinds of sport--so called. One is healthy,
invigorating, delightful, like baseball and football, for instance.
The other is fascinating, injurious, debasing, like poker."

Bart stared at Frank a moment, as if he were somewhat puzzled, and then
said:

"I guess you are right, old man. I hadn't ever thought of it just that
way before. I'd swear off and try to keep away from the game, if I
wasn't in so deep."

"You have lost quite an amount lately."

"Yes, I have been knifed deep. Gage