scarcely spoken to McCarthy since
the day she had heard him in conversation with Helen Baldwin.
Impulsively she dropped her book and came toward him with her hand
outstretched.

"Mr. McCarthy," she said rapidly, "I wanted to tell you--I do not
believe a word of these horrible things the paper says about you. It
is hateful! I told them they were false. I didn't think they'd dare
tell others"----

"Them?" inquired McCarthy. "Then you've heard this story before?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I refused to listen--I knew there was not a word
of truth in the stories. I knew you were honest"----

"I thank you very much, Miss Tabor," he said quietly. "I shall not
need to ask who told you."

"I only wanted you to know I believed in you," she said simply, and as
he looked into her eyes, she lowered them with a quick blush and
hastened to recover her book.

CHAPTER XXI

_Fair Play_

Thirty thousand persons were packed into the big stands on the Bears'
Park, and ten thousand others camped in the outer field seats when the
teams ran out to play that day.

A few loyalists applauded McCarthy as he trotted along with the other
players, but the ripple of applause died suddenly as if the friends he
had in the crowd feared to start a counterstorm of criticism and abuse.

The great crowd was strangely quiet, although a hum of comment spread
through the stands when the Bears took the fielding practice and
Jacobson, the pitcher, practiced at third base, while McCarthy remained
near the stands idly warming up a recruit pitcher. The buzz arose to a
hum of excitement. Reporters, deserting the press box, swarmed down
under the stands and crowded to the entrance at the rear of the Bears'
bench, calling for Clancy, who went to speak with them.

"Why isn't McCarthy in the game?" demanded the spokesman, who already
had written that McCarthy was suspended and out of the game.

"He is in the game," replied Clancy innocently. "Why shouldn't he be?"

For an instant the reporters stood undecided, then sprinted back to
their posts, to change what they had written and alter the line-up.

Bill Tascott, the umpire, swaggered out to the plate, dusted the
rubber, while the megaphones announced the batteries, and, at that
instant McCarthy, jerking his glove from his belt, hurled his catcher's
mitt to the bench and trotted out to third base, as Jacobson walked
toward the bench.

The little scattering applause that greeted him grew an