Lem Sellig, who was up first for Fairview, had what Tom thought was a wicked look in his eye. Whether Tom lost control or whether Lem surprised himself and his friends by finding the ball, in spite of its puzzling curve was not known, but at any rate he knocked a two bagger, and it was almost a three sacker, for the center fielder dropped the ball, and had some time in finding it in the grass before he threw it in just in time to shut off Lem from going to third. This stroke of luck seemed to give Fairview confidence, and Frank Sullivan almost duplicated Lem’s trick, bringing in the third baseman, and getting to second himself.
“Now we’re going to walk away from ’em,” declared Lem, as he tallied the first run for his side, and it did look so, for Ned Williams found Tom Parsons for a couple of fouls. But the fatal blow was wanting, and Ned went back to the bench, amid groans. Sullivan stole to third on a ball that managed to get past Dutch at home,and then followed a wild scene when John Allen knocked a pretty fly, bringing in Frank, but getting out himself. This made the score two to three in favor of Randall, and there was a nervous tension when Tom got ready to attend to Herbert Bower, the next man up.
“I’ve got to dispose of him with some style,” thought the Randall twirler, “or our fellows will get rattled. Let’s see if I can’t do it.”
It looked a bit discouraging when his first two deliveries were called balls, but the next three could not have been better, and Bower was struck out.
“All we’ve got to do is hold ’em down now, and we’ve got the game,” declared Dutch, as he walked with Tom in from the field.
“We’ve got to get some more runs,” insisted the captain.
But they didn’t. Dutch, Phil and Holly went down in one, two, three order. And a zero went up in the seventh frame for Randall.
Tom struck out Sam Soden for a starter in the eighth, and then he lost his balance, or something else happened, for he issued a free pass to first for Simonson, amid a chorus of groans from the Randall lads, and jeers from Fairview, who hurled such encouraging remarks at Tom as these:
“We’ve got him going now!”
“He’s all in!”
“We have his goat!”
“Talk about glass arms!”
Whether it was this jeering, or whether Tom was really tired, did not develop, but, at any rate, Ed Felton, who followed Simonson, placed a magnificent hit just inside the first base line, and with such speed did it go that it sifted down in through the seats of the right field bleachers, and Ed scored the first home run of the game, bringing in Simonson, whose tally tied the score; the homer putting Fairview one run ahead.
“Now we’ve got ’em! They’re easy fruit!” yelled the Fairview throng, the girls from the college blending their shrill voices with those of their male companions. Tom was rather shaky when he and Dutch held a little consultation in front of home plate, as Puder walked up with his stick. Puder singled, and Tom was getting worried, but he managed to pull himself together, and struck out Sellig and Sullivan, killing Puder on second, and halting any further scoring by Fairview that inning.
“Maybe you’d better put Rod Evert in the box in my place,” suggested Tom to Mr. Leighton, as the Randall nine, much dispirited, came up for their turn at the bat, the score being four to three in favor of Fairview.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the coach. “You’ll do all right, Tom. This is only a little slump.”
“Ihopethis is the end of it,” remarked the pitcher. “We can’t stand much more.”
“I’ll duplicate Felton’s home run,” promised Dutch.
“That’s the way to talk,” declared Ed Kerr, who was not feeling very happy over the showing made by the team of which he was manager.
But alas for Dutch’s hope! He didn’t get a chance to bat, for Woodhouse struck out, and Molloy and Pete Backus followed.
“If we can hold ’em this inning, and then get two runs, it will do the trick,” remarked Holly Cross at the beginning of the ninth.
“If,” spoke Tom dubiously, for he was beginning to lose heart. However, he gritted his teeth and, after a few warming-up balls before Ned Williams came up, he pitched to such good advantage that Williams was out in record time. John Allen swiped savagely at the horsehide, but it was not to be, and he walked back to the bench, while Bower came out, a smile of confidence on his face.
“Here’s another home run,” he prophesied, but Tom, in his heart, decided it was not to be, nor was it, for Bower struck out. This still left the score four to three, in favor of Fairview at the ending of the first half of the ninth inning. Randall needed two runs to win, but one would tiethe tally, and give them another chance. It would also afford another opportunity for Fairview.
The big crowd was on edge. Songs and college cries were being hurled back and forth from grand stand and bleachers.
“The ‘Conquer or Die’ song, fellows,” yelled Bean Perkins, and the strains of “Aut Vincere Aut Mori!” sung in Latin, welled sweetly and solemnly over the diamond. Tom Parsons felt the tears coming into his eyes, as he walked in.
“Oh, if we only can win!” he breathed.
He was up first, and he almost trembled as he faced the Fairview pitcher. There was a mist in his eyes, but somehow he managed to see through it the ball that was coming swiftly toward him. It looked good to his practiced eye, and he swung at it with all his force. To his delight there followed that most delightful of sounds, the “ping,” as the tough mushroom bat met the ball.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! A pretty hit! A beaut!” Tom heard the crowd yell, as he tossed aside the club, and started for first like a deer.
“Go on! Go on!” yelled Holly Cross. “Keep a-going, Tom!”
Tom kept on, swung wide around first, and then legged it for second. The ball had gone well over the center fielder’s head, and he was running back toward the daisies after it. “Go on! Go on!” implored Holly. Tom reachedthird before the ball was fielded in, and he remained there panting, while Joe Jackson took his place at home plate, swaying his bat to and fro.
“None gone, Tom on third and Joe at bat,” mused Mr. Leighton. “I wish Joe was a better hitter, but maybe he can knock out a bingle that will do the trick.”
Joe did, though it was more through an error on the part of the second baseman, who muffed the fly, than any ability on Joe’s part, that the Jersey twin got to first.
Tom came in, amid a burst of cheers and yells, scoring the tying run. Would there be a winning one, or would ten innings be necessary?
Jerry Jackson struck out, while his friends groaned, but Joe, with desperate daring, managed to steal second. Then up came Dutch Housenlager, and when he hit the ball a resounding whack the heart of more than one lad was in his throat. But, by a desperate run, the left fielder caught the fly, and Dutch was out, while Joe Jackson was on third. He died there, for Phil, to his great chagrin, struck out. The score stood a tie 4 to 4.
“Ten innings! Ten innings!” yelled the crowd.
Bean Perkins and his fellows were singing all the songs they knew. So were the Fairview cohorts, and the scene was a wild one.
“Hold ’em down, Tom; hold ’em down!” imploredthe coach as the plucky pitcher went to his box.
It looked as if he was not going to do it, for he passed Sam Soden to first, and duplicated the trick for Charley Simonson and with two men on bases, not a man down, and Tom as nervous as a cat, it began to look dubious for Randall. The crowd was on edge. So was Tom, with two lively runners on the first and second bags to watch. Several times he threw to first, hoping to catch Simonson napping, but it was not to be.
Suddenly Pete Backus, who was holding down second base, threw up his hand to shield his eyes, and Tom saw a dazzling streak of light flash across from the grand stand.
“What’s the matter, Pete?” asked the pitcher.
“Some girl up there must have bright buttons on, or a hat pin made of diamonds, for they’re flashing in my eyes,” complained Pete. Then the flash vanished and Tom was about to pitch a ball for Ed Felton, who was up, when, as he gave a comprehensive look at first and second, he again saw the dazzling gleam in Pete’s eyes.
“We’ll have to stop that!” exclaimed the captain. “I’ll ask Kerr or Mr. Leighton to speak to whoever’s wearing such bright adornments.”
“Funny it should hit me in the eyes all the while,” complained Pete, changing his position, but the beam of light followed him.
“Some one’s doing that on purpose,” declared Tom, and he fairly ran toward the grand stand. But before he got there he saw something happening.
The beam of light came from that section of the stand near where Tom had noticed Langridge and Miss Harrison sitting. Then, as he raced on, he also remembered that Sid sat there too. A terrible thought came to him. Could Sid be trying to disconcert the player who was taking his place, by flashing a mirror in his eyes?
“Of course he wouldn’t do such a dirty trick!” said Tom to himself, a moment after he had entertained the thought.
The captain reached the stand, in company with Dutch, who had run back in response to the pitcher’s motion, in time to see Sid leap to his feet, reach forward toward Langridge, who sat in front of him, while the deposed second baseman exclaimed:
“You mean sneak!”
“What’s the matter?” asked Langridge coolly, as he turned an insolent stare on Sid. “Mad because I’m with Miss Harrison?”
“No, you cur! But I see what you’re doing! Hand over that mirror!” and before Langridge could protest Sid had yanked him backward, partly over the seat, and had grasped the righthand of the former Randall student—a hand containing a small, circular mirror.
“You were flashing that in the eyes of our second baseman, you sneak!” cried Sid hotly. “I was watching you! You held it down, where you thought no one would see. You ought to be kicked off the stand!”
“I did not!” declared Langridge brazenly, yet there was fear in his manner, and the mirror was mute evidence. “I was just going to hand it to Miss Harrison,” he went on. “To let her see if her hat——”
The girl turned her blue eyes on him, and shrank away from the notice attracted to her escort. Langridge did not complete his lie.
“I saw what you were doing,” went on Sid. “Wasn’t something flashing in Pete’s eyes?” he asked, as Tom and Dutch, with some of the other Randall players, stood on the ground, in front of where the scene had taken place.
“That’s what I came in to see about,” declared Tom.
“I—I didn’t know it was shining in his eyes,” stammered Langridge. “Let go of me, Henderson, or I’ll make you!”
Sid did not want to make a scene, and released his hold of Langridge. Tom, by a motion, signalled to Sid to say nothing more, but it was principallyon the score of not wanting to further subject Miss Harrison to embarrassment, rather than to save Langridge from punishment. Then, too, there was only slim proof against Langridge. Sid grabbed the mirror away from the bully, and the latter dared not protest. There were some hisses, and Miss Harrison blushed painfully. Langridge tried to brazen it out, but, with a muttered excuse that he wanted to get a cigar, he left the stand, and the blue-eyed girl, after a frightened glance around, went and sat with Ruth and Madge. Sid looked as if he wanted to follow her, but he did not dare, and after Tom, Ed Kerr and Mr. Leighton had consulted together for a few minutes, it was agreed to take no action against Langridge, who had sneaked off.
“He did it, all right,” decided Tom. “He wanted to rattle Pete and make us lose to Fairview, but we’re not going to do it.”
“Indeed not,” asserted the coach. “Hold ’em down now, Tom. One run will do the trick.”
There were two men on bases, and none out when Ed Felton resumed his place at home, and Tom was inclined to shiver when he remembered what Ed had done to the ball before. But the pitcher took a strong brace, and struck out Ed, much to that worthy’s surprise.
Then, by some magnificent pitching, in the face of long odds, Tom retired Puder and Lem Selligwith an ease that he himself marveled at. His arm seemed to have gotten back some of its cunning.
A zero went up in the tenth frame for Fairview.
“That looks good to me!” cried Holly Cross, dancing about. “If we can’t get in one run now, Tom, we ought to be put out of the league.”
“Well, it’s up to you, Holly,” remarked Tom. “You’re up first.”
“By Jove, you’ll not be ashamed of me!” declared the big center fielder.
He rapped out a nice bingle that took him to second base. Then came Dan Woodhouse, and he struck out, amid groans.
Bricktop walked up with an air of confidence, amid encouraging comments from his chums. The Fairview pitcher was getting a little rattled, and threw so wild that the catcher, though he jumped for the ball, missed it, and had to run back while Holly, who had stolen to third, came in with a rush. There was a mixup at the plate, as Holly slid in, accompanied by a cloud of dust, but the pitcher, who had run up to assist the catcher, and make amends for his wild throw, dropped the ball, and Holly scored the winning run.
There was a moment of silence until the big crowd and the players appreciated what it meant to pull out a victory in the tenth, and that afteran exceedingly close game. Then came a burst of cheers, and applause that made the grand stands and bleachers rattle.
“Wow! Wow! Wow!” yelled the exultant Randallites, and they capered about in very joy, like wild Indians, slapping each other on the back, punching and being punched, cheering for themselves and for Fairview by turns.
“Wasn’t it great!” demanded Dutch Housenlager, as he waltzed up to Tom, and tried to lead him out into a dance on the diamond. “Immense, eh? Pulling it out of the fire that way?”
“Yes, that’s what we did—pulled it out of the fire,” agreed Tom, with a smile. “We needed this victory, and I’m glad we won, but we’ve got to play better—and that includes me—if we’re to have the loving cup this year. Our batting and fielding could be improved a whole lot.”
“Oh, of course,” agreed Dutch, “but aren’t you a bit proud of us, captain?”
“Oh, sure—of course,” answered the pitcher heartily. “Let joy be unconfined,” and with a yell of pure enjoyment he joined in the impromptu dance.
Fairview was glum, but not cast down. They had cheered the winning team, and Ted Puder, the captain, came up to Tom.
“You certainly beat us fair and square,” heacknowledged. “I hope you don’t think we had anything to do with Langridge using that mirror to dazzle the eyes of your second baseman.”
“Never thought of such a thing,” declared Tom with emphasis. “The cad worked that trick up all by his lonesome. I guess he thought maybe Sid was playing there, and he has a grudge against Henderson—yet that couldn’t have been it either, for Langridge knows Sid is suspended, and anyhow, Sid was sitting directly back of the sneak, where Langridge could have seen him.”
“Yes, it’s a good thing Sid detected him. Well, we’ll beat you next time.”
“Forget it,” advised Tom with a laugh.
“Come on, cap,” called Phil to him a moment later. “Let’s look up Sid, and, incidentally, the girls.”
“Sure,” agreed the pitcher, and a moment later he and Phil were greeting Madge, Ruth and Mabel. But Sid had hurried away.
The little group strolled past the grand stand, Tom and Phil excusing themselves while they went in to get on their street garments, the girls promising to wait for them.
“Wonder where Sid went?” asked Tom.
“Give it up,” replied Phil. “Langridge lit out, too; the cad! What a chump he must be to think he could get away with a game like that!”
“Yes, it was almost as good to have Sid discoverhim trying it, as if our old chum had held down the second bag,” declared the captain. “A flash at the right moment would have confused Pete, and might have cost us the game.”
“That’s right. Come on, hurry up, or the girls will get tired of waiting.”
The two went out, in time to see Langridge approaching the three young ladies. The Boxer Hall pitcher was striding over the grass toward Miss Harrison, who stood a little apart from her two friends.
“I’m awfully sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Mabel,” began Langridge. “The truth was, I had an important engagement, that I came near forgetting.”
“You haven’t kept me waiting,” was the cool answer.
“No? Well, I’m glad of it. Now, if you’re ready we’ll trot along. I met a friend of mine, Mr. Bascome, of Randall, and he will take us back to Fairview in his auto.”
“Thank you, I don’t care to go,” replied Miss Harrison.
“What? Don’t you like rides in the gasolene gig?” asked Langridge, with a forced laugh.
“Oh, I didn’t exactly mean that,” went on Miss Harrison. “It’s the company I object to.”
“You mean Bascome? Why he’s all right. Maybe he’s a little too——”
“I mean you!” burst out the girl, flashing a look of scorn on him from her blue eyes. “I don’t care to ride with a person who seeks to take unfair advantage of another in a ball game.”
“You mean that mirror? That was all an accident—I assure you it was. I didn’t intend anything—honestly.”
“You will favor me by not speaking to me again!” came in snapping tones from the indignant girl. “I shall refuse to recognize you after this, Mr. Langridge.”
“Oh, but I say now——” protested the bully, as he took a step forward. But Mabel linked her arm in that of Ruth, and, as Tom and Phil came along just then, Langridge, who was aware that they had heard the foregoing conversation, slipped hastily away, with a very red face.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” began Tom, unconsciously repeating the remark of Langridge. Miss Harrison seemed a little ill at ease, and Phil blurted out:
“Oh, come on! Let’s hurry, or there won’t be any ice cream left at Anderson’s. It’s a hot day and the crowd must be dry as a bone. I know I am. Come on, girls.”
They had a merry little time, until it was necessary for the girls to return to Fairview, whither Tom and Phil escorted them.
“Did you say any more to Langridge, oldman?” asked Tom of Sid, that night in the room of the “inseparables.”
“No, it wasn’t necessary.”
“You should have heard Miss Harrison lay him out,” exulted Phil. “She certainly put it all over him!”
“How?” demanded Sid eagerly, and his chums took turns telling him how the blue-eyed girl had given Langridge his “walking papers” in a manner very distasteful to that individual.
“No! You don’t mean it!” exclaimed Sid joyfully. Then, as a look came into his eyes that his chums had not seen there since the first happy days he had experienced with Mabel Harrison, Sid went on:
“Say, what’s the date of the Junior racket? I’ve mislaid my tickets.”
“Why?” asked Tom mischievously, though he well knew.
“None of your affair,” retorted Sid, but there was no sting in his answer.
“It’s next Friday,” put in Phil.
Sid tossed aside the things on his desk, and made a great fuss about writing a letter, while Phil and Tom casually looked on, well knowing to whom the epistle was addressed. Sid made several false starts, and destroyed enough paper to have enabled him to compute several problems and tore up a lot of envelopes before he finishedsomething that met with his approval, and then he went out to post it.
“He’s asked Miss Harrison to go to the Junior affair with him,” said Phil.
“Of course,” agreed Tom. “I hope she goes.”
Sid lived in an atmosphere of rosy hope for several days, but, when no reply came, he began to get uneasy. He eagerly accepted an invitation extended to him a few days later, to accompany Phil and Tom on a trip to Fairview, Ruth again having asked her brother to call to talk about the proposed trip to Europe. The three chums found the three girls in the reception room, and Miss Harrison showed some embarrassment when Sid entered. With a view to dispelling it Ruth, with a rapid signal to her brother, Tom and Madge, left the room, they following, leaving Miss Harrison and Sid alone there.
“Lovely weather,” remarked Sid desperately.
“Very,” answered Miss Harrison, uncertain whether to be amused or angry at the trick played on her by her chums.
“Are you going to the Junior dance Friday night?” went on Sid. “I wrote and asked you—you got my letter, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Mr. Henderson, and I should have answered before, but I was uncertain——”
“Won’t you let me take you?” pleaded Sid.
“I would like—won’t you—can you explain acertain matter which I wish to know about?” she asked. “You know what I mean. Believe me, I’m not prudish, or anything like that, but—if you only knew how I feel about it—won’t you tell me about that—that item in the paper accusing you?” she stammered. “If you weren’t there, why can’t you say so?” and she leaned eagerly forward, looking Sid full in the face.
He scarcely seemed to breathe. There was a great struggle going on within him. He looked into the blue eyes of the girl.
“I—I can’t tell you—yet,” he said brokenly.
“Then I can’t go with you to the dance,” she replied in a low voice, and she turned and left the room, going back to the den she shared with Ruth and Madge, while Sid went out the front door, and across the campus; nor would he stay, though Phil and Tom called to him, but walked off, black despair in his heart.
Tom and Phil went to the Junior dance, taking Madge and Ruth, and, though they enjoyed it thoroughly, there was a little sorrow in the hearts of the two lads that Sid was not there to share the pleasure with them.
“I wonder why he didn’t come?” asked Phil of Ruth, as the four stood chatting about his absence, over an ice, during an intermission.
“You ought to be able to guess,” replied his sister.
“Why?” persisted Phil.
“Because a certain person with blue eyes didn’t.”
“Oh, you mean——” and Phil would have blurted out the name, had not Miss Tyler laid a pretty hand over his mouth.
“Hush,” cautioned Madge. “No names out in company, if you please.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Tom comprehendingly. “How is she?”
“Rather miserable,” answered Ruth. “She wouldn’t come with us, though we knew you boys wouldn’t object.”
“Of course not,” spoke Phil quickly.
“And she stayed there in the room, moping.”
“Just like——” began Phil, and again the pretty fingers spread themselves across his lips.
“It’s too bad,” resumed Tom. “If he only would explain then——”
“Then everything would be all right,” finished Ruth. “But he won’t. Talk about women having a mind of their own, and being stubborn! I know a certain young man very much that way.”
“Oh, you mustn’t talk so about him,” expostulated Phil. “He’s all right. There’s something queer at the bottom of it, and I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that Langridge had had a hand in it.”
“By Jove, I never thought of that!” exclaimed Tom. “Maybe you’re right. I wonder if we could do anything to help?”
“Better not meddle,” cautioned Ruth. “Madge and I tried to use our influence, and were roundly snubbed for our pains. It’s too bad, but maybe things will come right after a while. Oh, there’s a lovely waltz! Isn’t it perfectly grand!” and her eyes sparkled in anticipation as Tom led her out on the floor while the music welled forth in dreamy strains.
Back in the “den of the inseparables” Sid sat in gloomy loneliness, making a pretense of studying.
“Oh, hang it all!” he cried at length, as he flung the book from him, knocking down the alarm clock in its flight. “What is the use? I might as well give up.”
Then, as he noted the cessation of the fussy ticking of the timepiece he crossed to where it lay on the ragged rug, and picked it up.
“Hope it isn’t damaged,” he murmured contritely. He shook it vigorously, and the ticking resumed. “It’s all right,” he added, with a breath of relief, “you couldn’t hurt it with an axe. Guess I might as well turn in. But I wish——” he paused, shrugged his shoulders helplessly, and did not finish.
There came a knock at the door, and Sid started. He flung open the portal, and Wallops, the messenger, stood in the hall.
“A note for you, Mr. Henderson,” he said. “A fellow just brought it.”
Sid snatched it eagerly, a hopeful look showing on his face. Then, as he saw the writing, there seemed to come into his eyes a shadow of fear.
“All right, Wallops,” he replied kindly, and he closed the door.
“Again,” he exclaimed. “Oh, will this neverend? Must I carry this secret all through college?” and he tore the note to bits. Then he slipped on another coat, pulled a cap down over his eyes and went out.
“Why, Sid isn’t here!” exclaimed Phil, when he and Tom, bubbling over still, with the spirit of the dance, came back to their apartment, after having escorted the girls home.
“That’s right,” agreed the pitcher, “and he’s not allowed any more passes since that affair with the pocket flask. He’s taking chances to slip out. Zane will be almost sure to catch him, and a few turns like that and Sid will be expelled. I wonder what’s gotten into him lately?”
“Give it up,” responded Phil. “Let’s hope that he won’t be nabbed.”
It was a vain hope, for Sid, coming into college about three o’clock that morning, was detected by the proctor. There was quite a stir over it, and Sid came mighty near expulsion. Only his fine scholarship saved him, but he was warned that another offense would be fatal to his chances.
Sid said nothing to his chums, but maintained a gloomy reserve, which wore off in a few days, but still left a cloud between them.
Meanwhile Tom was kept busy with his studies and his interest in the nine, while Phil was “boning”away, seeking a scholarship prize, and devoting as much time as he could to practice on the diamond.
Sid, barred from participation in regular games, was, however, allowed to practice with the ’varsity, and play on the scrub as suited his fancy, and Tom was glad to have him do either, for he cherished a secret hope that the ban might be removed before the end of the term, and he wanted Sid to keep in form. As for the second baseman he was becoming a “crackerjack” wielder of the stick, and at either right or left hand work was an example to be looked up to by the younger players, and his average something to be sighed after.
It happened one afternoon, a few days prior to an important out-of-town game Tom’s nine was to play, that the captain came upon Ed Kerr, the manager, busy figuring, in a corner of the gymnasium, his brow as wrinkled as a washboard.
“What’s the row?” asked Tom. “Conic sections or a problem in trig, Ed?”
“It’s a problem in finance,” was the response. “Ferd Snowden, the treasurer, has just handed me a statement of how the nine’s finances are, and, for the life of me I can’t see how it happened.”
“How what happened.”
“The shortage.”
“Shortage?” and there was a frightened note in Tom’s voice.
“Yes, shortage. I thought we were running along pretty well, but according to Snowden we’re in debt to him about ten dollars, for money he’s advanced from his own pocket. He says he can’t afford any more, and—well, it means we can’t play Richfield Saturday.”
“Why not?”
“Because we haven’t money enough to take the team out of town, and back again. Besides, Dutch needs a new catching mitt. I don’t see how it happened. I thought we were making money.”
“So did I. Let’s go have a talk with Snowden.”
The treasurer of the nine could only confirm his statement. He showed by figures that the amount of money taken in had not met the expenses, so far.
“The crowds haven’t been what they ought to have been,” Snowden explained. “Randall isn’t drawing as it used to.”
“We’re playing better ball,” fired Tom at him.
“That may be. I’m only talking from a money standpoint. We’re in debt ten dollars. Not that I mind, for I don’t need the money, but I thought Kerr ought to know. I can’t advance any more, and the team can’t go to Richfield without cash for railroad fare.”
“That’s right,” agreed Tom, scratching his head. “Well, the only thing to do is to call a meeting and ask for subscriptions. The fellows will easily make up the deficit, and give enough over to provide for traveling expenses. Dutch can use his old glove for a few games yet, and we ought to get enough out of this Richfield game to put us on our feet. After that we have a number of contests that will draw big crowds. Then comes the final whack at Boxer Hall, and that is always a money-maker. We’ll come out right yet, Ed. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not, only it looks as if I hadn’t managed things right.”
“Nonsense! Of course you have. The fellows will go down in their pockets. I’ll call a meeting for this afternoon.”
There was a buzz of excitement among the college students when the notice had been read, calling for a meeting of the athletic committee, to straighten out a financial tangle. There were various comments, and, though some remarked that it was “always that way,” and that a “few fellows had to be depended on for the money,” and like sentiments, the majority of opinion was that the sum needed would quickly be subscribed.
“Why don’t they make the ball nine a stock concern?” asked Mort Eddington, whose father was an “operator” in Wall street. “If they sold stock, lots of fellows would be glad to buy.”
“Yes, considering that the nine has made a barrel of money every year, it would be a paying proposition,” added Holly Cross. “But we don’t do business that way, Eddington, as you’ll learn when you’ve been here more than one term. What money we have left over at the end of the season goes to help some college club, or a team thathasn’t done so well. We’re not stock jobbers in Randall.”
“That’s all right. Maybe you’ll be glad of some money you could have from selling stock, before you’re through,” sneered the “operator’s” son.
“Oh, I guess not,” responded Dutch. “The fellows will toe the mark with the rocks all right.”
“My uncle says it’s all in how a team is managed,” began a voice, and Ford Fenton strolled up. “My uncle says——”
“Get out of here, you shrimp!” cried Holly Cross, making a rush at Ford. “If your uncle heard you, he’d take you out of this college for disgracing him.”
“That’s right,” agreed Dutch, making a playful attempt to trip up Ford, which the much-uncled youth skillfully avoided.
“You’re right, just the same,” declared Bert Bascome, who came up at that juncture. “The team hasn’t been managed right, and I’m going to have something to say about it at the meeting.”
The session called by Tom to consider financial matters was well attended. Tom, by general consent, was made chairman.
“You all know what we’re here for,” began the captain, who was not fond of long speeches. “The nine needs money to help it out of a hole.”
“Who got it in the hole?” asked Bascome with a sneer.
“Bang!” went Tom’s gavel.
“You’ll have a chance to speak when the time comes,” said the pitcher sharply. “I’ll be through in a minute.”
Bascome sat down, muttering something about “manager” and “money.”
“We need cash,” went on Tom, “to carry us over a certain period. After that we’ll have plenty. We haven’t made as much as we expected. Now we’d like subscriptions, and if any fellow feels that he can’t afford to give the money outright, don’t let that stand in his way. We’ll only borrow it, and pay it back at the end of the season. Of course, if any one wants to give it without any strings on it, so much the better. I’ve got ten dollars that goes that way.”
“So have I!”
“Here too!”
“Put me down for fifteen!”
“I’ve got five that isn’t working!”
These were some of the cries that greeted Tom’s closing words.
“I’ll let the treasurer take it,” announced the chairman. “Get busy, Snowden. We’ve got enough now to take the team out of town.”
Phil, who was sitting near Sid, looked at his chum, and remarked:
“You’re going to help us out, aren’t you, Sid? Seems to me I saw you with a fair-sized roll yesterday.”
“I—I’d like to help, first rate,” answered Sid, in some confusion, “only I’m broke now.”
Phil did not reply, but there was a queer look on his face. He was wondering what Sid had done with his money. This was the second time he had unexpectedly “gone broke.”
Subscriptions were pouring in on Snowden, and it began to look as if Tom’s prophecy would hold good, and that the boys only need be told of the needs of the nine to have them attended to. Bert Bascome, who had been whispering with Ford Fenton, and some of his cronies, suddenly arose.
“Mr. Chairman,” began Bascome.
“Mr. Bascome,” responded Tom.
“I rise to a question of personal privilege,” he went on pompously.
“What is it?” asked Tom, trying not to smile.
“I would like to know why it is that the nine hasn’t made money enough to carry itself so far this season, when it has played a number of games, and won several?” went on Bascome.
“One reason is that the attendance was not large enough to cover expenses, and leave a sufficiently large sum to be divided between our team and the ones we played,” stated the captain, wondering what Bascome was driving at.
“I would like to inquire if it is not because the team was not properly managed?” shot out Bascome. “I believe that if Ford Fenton had been elected we——”
“Drop it!”
“Dry up!”
“Put him out!”
“Treason!”
“Fresh! Fresh!”
A score of lads were on their feet, shouting, yelling, demanding to be recognized, shaking their fists at Bascome and uttering dire threats.
“Mr. Chairman, may I spake wan wurd!” cried Bricktop Molloy, in his excitement lapsing into a rich brogue.
Tom was banging away with his gavel, but he managed to make his voice heard above the tumult.
“Mr. Bascome has the floor!” he cried.
“Put him out!”
“Who is he, anyhow?”
“Whoever heard of Bascome?”
Again the cries; again the banging of the gavel, and at last Tom succeeded in producing quiet.
“Mr. Bascome has the floor,” the chairman announced. “Do I understand that you ask that as a point of information?” and Tom gazed at the wealthy freshman, who, through all the tumult,had maintained his place, sneeringly indifferent to the threats made against him.
“That’s what I want to know,” he stated.
“I’ll let the entire college answer that if necessary,” declared Tom. “Mr. Bascome has asked a question——”
“Don’t answer him!” yelled Dutch.
Bang! went the gavel. From his corner where he had been seated, doing some figuring, Ed Kerr arose—his face white.
“Mr. Chairman! A question of personal privilege!” he cried.
“Go on!” answered Tom, forgetting his parliamentary language.
“I beg to tender my resignation as manager of the Randall baseball nine!” cried Ed.
“No! No!”
“We won’t take it!”
“Make him sit down!”
“Don’t listen to him!”
“Let’s haze Bascome!”
“Fellows, will you be quiet?” begged Tom. “I won’t recognize anyone until you’re quiet!” and he banged away.
Gradually there came a hush, while both Bascome and Kerr remained on their feet.
“There is a question before the house,” went on the captain, “and until that is settled I can’t listen to anything else. Mr. Bascome wants toknow whether the present financial trouble of the nine is not due to the manager. How do you answer him?”
“No! No! No!” came in a great chorus.
Tom turned to Ed Kerr.
“Are there any who think otherwise?” asked the chairman.
“Yes,” called Bascome, and he was supported by half a dozen, including Ford Fenton. There were groans of protest, but Tom silenced them.
“I think Mr. Bascome has his answer,” declared the chairman. “You have an almost overwhelming vote of confidence, Mr. Manager, and I congratulate you. Is there any further business to come before the meeting. Oh, yes, I almost forgot. How are you making out, Mr. Treasurer?”
“Fine!” cried Snowden. “All we need and more, too.”
“Good! Then the meeting is adjourned. We don’t need any motion,” and Tom started to leave the little platform.
“Look here!” blustered Bert Bascome, “I’m a member of the athletic committee, and you can’t carry things in this high-handed manner. I move that we go into executive session and consider the election of a new manager. Mr. Kerr has resigned, as I understand it.”
“Forget it!” advised Dutch Housenlager, andhe stretched out his foot, and skillfully tripped up the noisy objector, who went down in a heap, with Ford Fenton on top of him.
“Here! Quit! I’ll have you expelled for that!” spluttered Bascome, rising and making a rush for Dutch. But he was surrounded by a mass of students, who laughed and joked with him, shoving him from side to side until he was so mauled and hauled and mistreated that he was glad to make his escape.
“Little rat!” muttered Holly Cross, as he saw Bascome and Ford going off together. “That’s all they’re good for—to make trouble.”
“Yes,” agreed Tom, “Bascome’s been sore ever since he couldn’t have his way about electing Ford Fenton manager. But I guess we’re out of the woods now. Get in good shape for the Richfield game Saturday, fellows.”
The crowd rushed from the gymnasium, laughing and shouting, and refusing to listen to Kerr, who still talked of resigning, though he was finally shown that the objection to him amounted to nothing. It was still light enough for some practice, and most of the lads headed for the diamond. Tom, Phil and Sid walked along together. As they passed under the side window of the East Dormitory, where the freshmen and seniors roomed, Phil spied, hanging from a casement, a tall, silk hat.
“Get on to the tile!” he cried. “Some blooming freshman must have hung it there to air, ready for a shindig to-night. Bet you can’t hit it, Tom. Two out of three. If you do I’ll stand for sodas for the bunch.”
“It’s a go!” agreed the pitcher.
“Here’s a ball,” remarked Sid, handing Tom one. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Tom fingered the horsehide, glanced critically at the hat, which hung on a stick out of the window, and then drew back his arm.
“Here goes!” he cried, and, an instant later the ball was whizzing through the air. Straight as the proverbial arrow it went, and so skillfully had Tom thrown, that the spheroid went right into the hat—and, came out on the other side, through the top of the crown, making a disastrous rent. Then ball and hat came to the ground together.
“Fine shot!” cried Phil admiringly.
“That hat won’t do duty to-night,” observed Sid. “You knocked the top clean out, Tom,” and he ran forward to pick it up. As he did so he was aware of an indignant figure coming from the dormitory. So, in fact, were Phil and Tom. A moment later, as Sid held the ruined silk hat in his hands, Professor Emerson Tines confronted the lads.
“May I ask what you young gentlemen are doing with my hat?” he asked in frigid tones.
“Your—your hat?” stammered Tom.
“My hat,” repeated the stern teacher. “I was a witness to your act of vandalism. You may come with me to Dr. Churchill at once!”
Phil, Tom and Sid stood staring blankly at one another. Sid still held the broken hat, until Professor Tines came up and took it from him.
“Ruined, utterly ruined!” murmured the teacher. “My best hat!”
“We—I—that is I—didn’t know it was your hat,” stammered Tom. “I threw the ball through it.”
“You didn’t know it was my hat?” asked Professor Tines, as if such ignorance was inexcusable. “Whose did you suppose it was, pray?”
“Some galoot’s—I mean some freshman’s,” stammered Phil. “You see, it was hanging from a window in the freshmen’s dormitory, and——”
“It was not hanging from the window of any student in the first year class,” declared the instructor pompously. “I had sent my silk hat to one of the janitors, who makes a practice of ironing them. He had finished it, and hung it out to air, when you—you vandals came along. Idistinctly saw you throw at my hat, sir,” and Professor Tines shook his finger at Tom.
“I—I know it, sir. I admit it,” confessed the captain. “Only—only——”
“We didn’t know it was your hat, sir,” went on Sid. “I’m afraid it’s quite—quite unfit to wear, sir,” and Sid tried to put the flapping piece back into place, for the professor had dropped the tile, and Sid had picked it up.
“Unfit to wear! I should say it was. Fit to wear! Why I intend delivering a lecture on ‘The Art of Repose as an Aid to High Thinking’ and now, sir—now, you young vandals have ruined the hat I was going to wear! It’s infamous—infamous! I shall have you expelled! I shall let your parents know of your shameless conduct! I shall have you dismissed at once!” and the irate professor shook his fist first at Tom, then at Sid and then at Phil. “Your conduct is a disgrace to the school!” he went on. “Here, give me my hat!” and he fairly snatched it from Sid. “Come with me at once to Dr. Churchill. He shall know about this outrage!”
“If you please, Professor Tines, we didn’t know it was your hat,” was about all Phil could think of to say.
“So much the worse. You thought it belonged to some defenseless student, and that you could ruin it with impunity. But I shall soon show youhow mistaken you were. Come with me at once!” and Professor Tines, holding his hat in one hand, seized Tom’s coat sleeve in the other, and led him toward the president’s office, followed by Phil and Sid.
“I—I have a tall hat, which I’ll give you, until you can have this one fixed,” spoke Sid, as they walked along.
“Until I get this one fixed? It is beyond fixing!” declared Mr. Tines wrathfully.
Good Dr. Churchill looked pained when the three culprits were ushered into his presence.
“Look here, sir! Look here!” spluttered Professor Tines, his voice fairly trembling as he thrust the battered hat close to the president, who was near-sighted. “Just look at that, sir!”
“Ha! Hum!” murmured the doctor. “Very interesting, I should say. Very interesting.”
“Interesting?” and Mr. Tines stood aghast.
“Yes. I presume you have been illustrating to your class the effect of some explosive agent on soft material. I should say it was a very complete and convincing experiment—very complete, convincing and interesting. I congratulate you.”
“Congratulate! Interesting experiment!” gasped the irate “Pitchfork.”
“Yes. It was very well done. My, my! The crown of the hat is almost completely gone. Almost completely,” murmured the doctor, lookinginterestedly at the dilapidated tile. “What sort of an explosive did you use, Professor Tines? I trust your class took careful notes of it.”
“Explosion!” burst out Professor Tines, looking as if he was likely to blow up himself. “That was no explosion, sir! My best hat was ruined by a baseball in the hands of these vandals, sir! I demand their expulsion at once.”
“Baseball?” queried Doctor Churchill.
“I threw it, sir,” declared Tom quickly. “I’m very sorry. I did not know the hat belonged to Professor Tines, and I will pay for it at once,” and the captain made a motion toward his pocket.
“Let me have the whole story,” requested the president, and Tom thought there was a twinkle in his eyes. Professor Tines related most of it, in his usual explosive fashion, and the lads could only plead guilty. The owner of the hat ended by a demand for their dismissal, and Dr. Churchill said he would take the matter under advisement, but there was that in his manner which gave the culprits hope, and when he sent for them a little later, it was to pass the sentence that the three of them must go shares in buying a new hat. Tom wanted to stand all the damage, but Dr. Churchill, with a half-laugh, said he must mete out punishment all around.
“I say, will you lend me my share of the money,for a few days?” asked Sid, of Tom, when they were on their way back to the room.
“Sure!” was the answer. “Say, what do you do with all your cash, Sid?” for Mr. Henderson was known to be well off.
“I—er—Oh, I have uses for it,” replied Sid, and he hurriedly turned the conversation.
The nine played Richfield, a strong college team, on Saturday, and was nearly beaten, for just when some good hitting was needed, Pete Backus, who was filling Sid’s place, went to the bad. Randall did manage to get the lead of a run, and kept it, due mainly to Tom’s magnificent pitching, but the final score was nothing to boast of, though Randall came home winners.
“We certainly do miss Sid,” remarked Tom, as he was sitting beside Phil, in the train on the way back. “If there’s anything that’s going to make us win or lose the championship this year it’s batting, and that’s Sid’s strong point. I wish we could get him back on the team.”
“Maybe we can.”
“How?”
“By getting up a petition, and having all the fellows sign it. Maybe if the faculty understood what it meant they would vote to rescind the order not allowing Sid to take part in games.”
“By Jove, it’s worth trying!” cried Tom.“We’ll do it! I’ll go talk with Ed Kerr and Mr. Leighton.”
The manager and coach thought the plan a good one, and a few days later a petition was quietly circulated. Nothing was said to Sid about it, for fear he would object. The students were anxious to get their names down, and soon there was an imposing list.
“I want to get the freshmen now,” decided Tom, one afternoon, when the petition was nearly ready for presentation. “I’m making a class affair of it, each year’s students by themselves, and I let the freshmen go until last. I’ll see Bascome, who is the class president, ask him to call a meeting, and have his fellows sign.”
Tom sought out Bascome a little later, and explained what was wanted, asking the freshman to call a session of his classmates.
“In other words you want me and my friends to help you out of a hole?” asked Bascome, and he was sneering.
“That’s about it,” answered Tom, restraining a desire to punch the overbearing freshman. “We want to strengthen the nine, and we can do it if we can get Henderson back on it.”
“Then you’ll never get him back with my signature nor that of my friends!” cried Bascome. “I’ll get even with you fellows now, for the way you’ve treated me!”
He was sneering openly. Tom looked him full in the face.
“You sneaking little cad,” was what he said, as he turned away.
There was much excitement of a quiet sort when it was known what stand Bascome had taken. He was roundly condemned by the sophomores, juniors and seniors, and even by a number of the freshmen students. But Bascome remained firm, and he carried the class with him. Only a few freshmen put their names down on the petition, and they resigned from the exclusive freshman society to be able to do so.
For there was, that year in Randall, a somewhat bitter feeling on the part of the whole freshman class against the sophomores, on account of some severe hazing in the fall. It had created trouble, had engendered a sense of injury, and there was lacking a proper spirit in the college.
This had its effect, and the freshmen were almost a unit against the nine, which (and this was perhaps unusual) happened to be composed mainly of sophomores that season.
“What do you think of the dirty sneak?” asked Tom of Phil, to whom he narrated the refusal of Bascome.
“Think of it? I’d be ashamed to properly express myself, Tom. It’s rotten, that’s what it is. But I guess we’ve got enough names as it is.”
“Hope so, anyhow. I’m going to send it in, at any rate.”
The petition was duly delivered to Dr. Churchill, and a faculty meeting was called. A unanimous vote of the corps of instructors was needed to reinstate a student suspended from athletics for a violation of the rules, such as Sid had been accused of, this being one of the fundamental laws of the college since its inception. Now the absence of the names of the majority of the freshman class tended to operate against the petition being accorded an unprejudiced hearing, but what did more to keep Sid out was the vote of Professor Tines.
The latter could not get over the destruction of his silk hat, though a new one had been purchased for him, and when the final vote was taken he barred Sid from getting back on the nine.
“I have reason to believe that Mr. Henderson is inclined to too much horse-play,” he said, “as indicated by what he did to my hat. Again, if he were a popular student the freshmen wouldhave joined in the request. They did not, as a class, and so I am constrained to vote as I do.”
None of the faculty—even Professor Tines—knew the real reason why the freshmen names were not down, and no one cared about mentioning it, for it was not a thing for students to discuss with the teachers. Mr. Leighton did his best, in a delicate way, but it was of no use. The petition failed, and not a few members of the faculty were deeply grieved, for they wanted to see a championship nine in Randall. Still they would not argue with Professor Tines.
And the chances of Randall winning the championship and the loving cup seemed to be diminishing from day to day, in spite of the strenuous efforts of Tom, Ed Kerr and Mr. Leighton. There was something lacking. No one could just say what it was, but there was a spirit of uncertainty, and a sense of worriment in the nine, that did not operate for perfect team work.
Tom threatened and pleaded by turns, but his words had little effect. The men showed up well in practice, and played a fast and snappy game with the scrub, but when it came to going out on the diamond there was a lack of batting ability and an absence of team work, that had a bad effect, and several games were won only by narrow margins, while some, that should have been won, were lost.
“We play Boxer Hall, Saturday,” observed Tom, in his room with Phil and Sid one evening. “I wonder how we’ll make out.”
“It isn’t the last game, is it?” inquired Sid.
“No, there’s one more, and another with Fairview. But I’m not worrying much about the co-eds. It’s Boxer that has me guessing. Oh, Sid, but I wish you were with us.”
“So do I,” and Sid turned his face aside.
“Can’t you get back?” asked Phil. “Can’t you go to Dr. Churchill, and explain—about that bottle of liquor—you know.”
“No,” answered Sid gently, “I can’t.”
“The nine may lose,” declared Tom.
“I’m—I’m just as sorry as you are, Tom,” said the second baseman earnestly, “but it’s out of the question. I can’t explain—just yet.”
“Can you ever?” demanded Phil eagerly.
“Perhaps—soon now. I am hoping every day.”
“Have you given a—a sort of promise—to some one?” asked Tom gently.
“Yes,” replied Sid in a low voice. “It’s a promise, and a great deal depends on it—even more than the championship of Randall college.” And that was all Sid would say for the time being.
The game with Boxer Hall was a hard one. Tom and his men had to work for everythingthey got, for Langridge seemed to have improved in his pitching, and the fielding of Randall’s enemy was a thing to rejoice the heart of her captain and coach.
The game ran along to the seventh inning with some sensational plays, and the score was 6 to 4 in favor of Boxer. Then Langridge grew a bit wild, and issued several passes until the bases were full, when a three bagger which Holly Cross knocked brought in three runs, and put Randall one ahead. There was wild delight then, and as none were out it looked as if Randall would be good for at least two more runs. But Langridge got control of the ball, and struck out three men, and the next inning Boxer put in a new pitcher—a semi-professional it was whispered, though Tom and his fellows decided to take no notice of the talk.
Then began a desperate effort on the part of Boxer Hall to get in two more runs in the remaining two innings. They adopted unfair tactics, and several times the umpire warned the men on the coaching line that they were violating the rules.
Tom managed to stiffen his work in the eighth, and, though two men got walking papers, no runs came in, for the next three batters went down and out under the influence of Tom’s curves. But that inning saw no runs for Randall, either,and when her men came in for their last chance Tom pleaded with them to get at least one more to clinch the victory that was held by such a narrow margin. It was not to be, however, and a zero went up in the Randall space on the score board.
The score was 7 to 6, in favor of Randall, when Boxer Hall came up for the ending of the ninth inning.
“If we can only hold ’em there,” thought Tom wearily, for his arm ached. Still he would not give up, though Rod Evert was anxious to fill the box.
Tom struck out the first man, gave the next one a pass, and was hit for a single by the third batter. Then the Randall captain knew he must work hard to win. He struck out the next batter, and as Dave Ogden, who followed, was a notoriously hard hitter, Tom was worried. A three bagger, which was Ogden’s specialty, would bring in two runs, and win the game for Boxer.
Dutch signalled for a drop, but Tom gave the negative sign, and indicated that he would pitch an out. As the ball left his fingers he was aware that it had slipped and that Ogden would hit it.
He did. There was a resounding “whack” and the ball, a hot liner, came straight for Tom. The Boxer Hall crowd set up a yell, thinking their man had made good, and that two runs, atleast, would come in. For no one expected to see Tom stop the ball.
But he did. It was well over his head, and passing him on the right side.He leaped into the air, and with his bare hand caught the horsehide.The impact on his unprotected palm was terrific, and he was at once aware that he had split the skin. But though a pain, like a red hot iron, shot down his arm, he held on.