The Rival Pitchers: A Story of College Baseball

  CHAPTER XV

  A SOPHOMORE TRICK

  While knowing nothing of the efforts Coach Lighton was making in hisbehalf, Tom continued hard practice at his pitching. Every day he madesome improvement until his friends on the scrub regarded him as amarvel. But, as if some mysterious whisper had come to Langridge, thelatter also showed improvement. He spent more time in practice and atone game, when it looked as if the scrub would beat the 'varsity,chiefly due to Tom's fine pitching, Langridge saved the day by brilliantwork in the box. The coach was pleased at this and Tom could not helpfeeling that his chances were farther away than ever.

  There were many other phases of college life, aside from baseball, thatappealed to Tom. He liked his studies and he gave them more attentionthan perhaps any other lad of the sporting set. He was not a "greasydig," by which was meant a student who burned midnight oil over hisbooks, but he stood well in his classes, for learning came naturally tohim.

  Not so, however, to his roommate. Poor Sid had to "bone" away ratherhard to get along, and, as he was required to put in a certain amount oftime on the diamond, his lessons sometimes suffered. He was warned oneday by Professor Tines, in the Latin class, that if he did not show moreimprovement he would be conditioned and not allowed to play on the team.

  "And that mustn't happen," declared Captain Woodhouse. "Take a brace,Sid. Don't go throwing us down now. It's too late to break in anotherfirst baseman."

  Sid promised, and, for a time, stood better in his class. In themeanwhile other sports went on at Randall College. The crew was outevery day on the river and the 'varsity eight-oared shell, severaldoubles and some singles held impromptu races. A freshman eight wasformed and Tom was asked to join, but he wisely refused, for he reasonedthat he could not give enough time to it to become a member of a racingcrew without sacrificing either baseball or his studies, and he would doneither.

  "But you'll never make the 'varsity nine," argued Captain Bonsell, ofthe freshman crew. "Much better to train with us, for I'll promise you aplace in the boat when it comes to the championship race. You'll neverbe the 'varsity pitcher."

  For Bonsell had looked with envy on Tom's big muscles.

  "Well, I'm not going to give up until the last game," declared Tomstoutly. "Maybe I'll get a chance at the tail end. Langridge can't lastforever, though far be it from me to wish him any bad luck."

  "I see," spoke Bonsell with a laugh, "the survival of the fittest. Iwish you luck, old man."

  So Tom practiced and practiced and practiced until on the scrub his namebecame one to conjure with. But Langridge remained in his place on the'varsity and Evert was the substitute pitcher. Between Tom and Langridgethere was more than ever a coldness. It was not due to the sneaking actof the rich lad in not absolving Tom from blame in the wire episode, butmight more properly be ascribed to the incident connected with MissTyler, though neither youth was willing to admit this. In spite ofhimself, Tom found that he was entertaining a certain indescribablefeeling toward the girl. Often, at night, he would recall her laughing,tantalizing face as she walked away with Langridge.

  "Hang it all!" Tom would exclaim to his pillow. "He's not fit for her!She ought to know it. I practically told her, yet she went off with him,after all. Confound it all, I can't understand girls, anyhow."

  But Tom might well have been comforted, for no one else does either,though many believe that they do.

  But, though part of Tom's coldness toward Langridge was based on thelatter's meanness about the wire and though probably the 'varsity pitcherkept aloof from Tom for the same reason, there was no disposition onTom's part to complain or "squeal." As far as the faculty was concerned,Tom was guilty of the prank that had had so nearly a fatal ending. But hedid not complain. He had given his word.

  "Well, Tom, old man, going along?" asked Sid one day as he came in froma biology lecture and tossed his text-book under the bed, though he knewhe would have to crawl for it afterward.

  "Going along where?"

  "The team's going to Dodville for a game with a big prep. school there.Not much as regards a game, but it will be fun. It's a nice trolleytrip, and I hear all the subs are going."

  "But I'm not a sub."

  "Well, you're a scrub, and that's almost the same. Come along and rootfor us, anyhow, though I guess we'll wipe up the earth with the preps."

  "I thought we had a game with Boxer to-morrow."

  "We did, but they canceled it, as they have to fill in a postponed gamewith Fairview, so we've shifted our schedule. Will you come?"

  "Sure, if there's room."

  "Of course there is. Langridge has hired two special trolleys. You knowhe's not going to play the regular 'varsity team. Only freshmen are tobe allowed on it. It's more for practice than anything else."

  "Oh!" exclaimed Tom. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Sidthought there might be a chance to do some pitching, but he thoughtbetter of it.

  The Dodville Preparatory School had a good nine and a reputation ofputting up a hard game, but Langridge was set on the idea of playingonly freshmen against them, and thus it was decided. On the afternoon ofthe game the team, many supporters and the scrubs and substitutesboarded two trolleys for the trip to the grounds.

  It was a jolly crowd, and the way was enlivened by songs and jokes. Tomwas in the first car with Sid and some others of his particular chums.Langridge was also there, but he kept rather away from Tom.

  Out on the platform with the motorman was an individual with a slouchhat pulled down over his eyes and his coat collar turned up.

  "Who's that, a tramp?" asked Tom as he noticed the man.

  "Looks like it," admitted Sid. "Begging a ride maybe on the strength ofthis being a special. Well, let him go. If you call attention to him,some of the fellows may make a row and create a rough house. Don't sayanything."

  Tom did not, but he noticed that the tramp appeared to be very friendlyto the motorman and talked frequently with him. The electric line toDodville ran through a stretch of country not thickly populated, and atone point it switched over another trolley road which ran to a distant,thriving village. The boys were so engrossed in their fun, laughing andjoking that they paid little attention to matters outside, and the timepassed quickly. Holly Cross was giving (by request) an imitation of awell-known vaudeville performer when Sid, who happened to look out ofthe window, exclaimed:

  "Say, fellows, where, for the love of tripe, are we? This isn't the roadto Dodville."

  "Aw, what's eatin' you?" demanded Dutch Housenlager. "Could the trolleycar go off by itself on a road alone? Answer me that!"

  "I don't know what it could do, it's what it has done," retorted Sid. "Iknow this road. It goes to Fayetmore, which is next door to SquankumCenter. Fellows, we're five miles from Dodville!"

  "Get out!" cried Langridge, unwilling to believe it.

  "Fact!" asserted Sid. "We're five miles out of our way, on the wrongroad, and the game starts in less than an hour. They'll call it aforfeit on us and never stop twitting us about this."

  "Ah, you must be wrong," declared Holly Cross. "Don't you s'pose themotorman knows the way? It isn't as if this was an auto."

  Sid pulled open the front door. The tramp, who had been talking to themotorman, had gone.

  "I say," began the first baseman, "is this the road to Dodville? Aren'tyou on the wrong line?"

  "Why, sir, I don't rightly know," replied the motorman somewhat timidly.

  "You don't know?" repeated Sid incredulously.

  "No. I--I hope this is the right road."

  "You hope so!" cried Langridge. "Well, I should say yes. Why don't youknow?"

  "Well, you see, I'm new on this section of the line. To-day is my firstrun. I took the turn back there where the gentleman told me to."

  "What gentleman?"

  "The one who was out here on the platform with me. He said he was yourmanager."

  "Manager!" fairly yelled Langridge. "Why, I'm the manager of this team."

  "Can't help it. That's what th
e gentleman said. He said he knew the roadto Dodville, and when I got to the switch he told me to come this way."

  "What was his name?" demanded Langridge, who was beginning to "scent arodent," as Holly Cross said.

  "He gave me his card," went on the motorman, who had halted his car inthe midst of a lonely stretch of woods.

  "Let's see!" cried Sid.

  The trolley man fumbled in his pocket for it. Tom looked back, but couldnot see the other special car. That had probably been some distancebehind the first one and had doubtless gone the right road, the motormannot suspecting that his predecessor was not ahead of him.

  Sid took the bit of pasteboard which the man held out to him. He lookedat it and then uttered an exclamation.

  "It's a trick!" he cried, "a soph trick! Listen to this, fellows. Thisis Fenmore's card, and he's written on it this message: 'This is onlypart of what we sophs owe you freshies for the pavilion game. There ismore coming. Hope you have a nice picnic in the woods.' That fellow onthe platform was Fenmore," went on Sid. "No wonder he kept his hatdown."

  "And here we are--part of the team--out here in the wilderness, fivemiles from the game, which starts in half an hour!" cried Langridge indisgust. "Say, those sophs got back at us all right. We're in a nicepickle!"