“Me!  Und I Couldn’t lose dot game for ein dollar!” glared the prosperous German.

He stared after the departed second section, from the open windows of which fluttered or wildly waved many a banner; for few of the Gridley crowd had yet discovered that one of the most prized members of the team had been left behind.

Herr Schimmelpodt it was, who, a wealthy retired contractor, had found his second youth in his enthusiasm over the High School baseball nine the season before.

Though thrifty enough in most matters, the German had become a liberal contributor to the High School athletic fund, to the great dismay of his good wife, who feared that his new outdoor fads would yet land them both in the poorhouse.

“Vot you doing here, Bresgott?” demanded Herr Schimmelpodt, turning upon the young prisoner.  “Vy you ain’t by dot elefen?  How dey going to vin bis you are behint left?”

“You have company in your misery, sir,” said Officer Hemingway.  “I’m awfully sorry to say that Dick Prescott can’t see today’s game, either.  It’s a whopping shame, but sometimes the law is powerless to do right.”

“What foolishness are you talking mit, vonce alretty?” demanded Herr Schimmelpodt, looking bewildered.

“I’ve just been arrested, on a false charge of assault,” Dick stated quietly.

“You?  Und you don’t blay by der game yet’ By der beard of Charlemagne,” howled Herr Schimmelpodt excitedly, “ve see apoud dot!”

Digging down into a trouser’s pocket this enthusiastic old High School “rooter” brought up a roll of bills almost as large around as a loaf of bread.

CHAPTER XV

A “FACER” FOR THE PLOTTER

“What are you going to do with all that wallpaper, Mr.Schimmelpodt?” laughed Officer Hemingway.

“Me?  I gif bail, don’t I?” demanded the German.

“Well, you can’t do it here.  That’s a matter to be fixed in court.”

“Und dot train going by a mile a minute, I bet you!” gasped the German ruefully.

“Come along, lad,” urged Hemingway gently.  “On Saturdays court opens at one o’clock.  We’ll get right up there and see this matter through.”

“I bet you’ve see dis matter through—–­right through someone, ain’t it?” exploded Herr Schimmelpodt, ranging himself on the other side of the young prisoner.

As they went along the German, using all his native and acquired shrewdness, quickly got at the bottom of the matter.

In the meantime indignant Dave Darrin was telling all he knew about the business to an indignant lot of High School youngsters in the day coach.

“You keep your upper eyebrow stiff, Bresgott,” urged the warm-hearted German.  “I see you through by dis business.  Don’t you worry.”