The Rival Pitchers: A Story of College Baseball

  CHAPTER XVIII

  SOME "OLD GRADS"

  "What's the matter, old man?" inquired Sid the next morning as he rolledover in bed and looked at Tom.

  "Matter? Why?"

  "You look as if you'd been drawn through a knot hole, and a small one atthat. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," and Tom tried to laugh it off. "I didn't sleep very well,that's all."

  "For that matter, neither did I."

  "Get out! I heard you snoring away like a boiler blowing off steam."

  "Then I must have been tired. I never snore unless I am. Wow! ouch!Decameron's Prothonotary!"

  Sid made a face that indicated intense anguish and put his hand to hisside as he turned over in bed.

  "What's the matter?" asked Tom anxiously.

  "Strained my side when I slid for second base that time. I didn't noticeit yesterday, but it hurts like sin now. Guess I'll have to cut lecturesto-day and stay in bed."

  "What excuse will you give?"

  "Oh, I'll say--no, I won't, either," declared Sid with a sudden change ofdecision. "I can't say it was playing baseball that laid me up or Moseswill ask me to cut out the ball. I've got to suffer. I know what I'll do.I'll limp in chapel and on my way to lectures. I'm not prepared in trig,anyhow, and maybe they'll let me off easy. I'm sure to slump in Latin,but maybe Pitchfork will have mercy on a gladiator who was willing to diefor Caesar."

  Tom felt like laughing, but he restrained himself as he saw that Sid wasreally suffering. The first baseman crawled out of bed with many a groanand made wry faces. He limped across the room.

  "How's that?" he asked Tom. "Do I do it naturally?"

  "Sure. It would deceive anybody."

  "I don't want to deceive 'em. It's gospel truth. I'm as lame as a sorehorse. But I'll go down."

  "Let me rub it," suggested Tom, and he forgot part of his troubles ingiving vigorous massage to Sid's strained side.

  "It feels better. Thanks, old man," declared the hurt one as he began todress.

  "But you're limping worse than ever."

  "Sure. No use losing any of the advantages of my limp. It may save mefrom a discredit in Latin. Oh, if you want to know how to limp come toyour Uncle Dudley."

  Tom laughed and prepared for chapel. He himself was in no very jollymood, however, for he could not help thinking of the problem connectedwith the discovery about Langridge. That it was a problem, and no smallone, Tom was ready to admit. He felt himself in a peculiar position. Hehad spoken to the 'varsity pitcher and had been insulted. To let him goon in his course, breaking training and endangering the success of thenine, Tom felt would not be right. Yet if he spoke to the coach orcaptain about it there would be but one construction put upon hisaction.

  Tom could fancy Mr. Lighton thanking him for the information aboutLangridge and could even imagine the coach acting on it and warning thepitcher. Tom could see the look on the face of Kindlings when he wastold. It would be a revelation. Yet for all the service that he renderedto the team there would be but one construction put upon Tom's act byhis classmates--he would be accused of informing in order to oustLangridge so that he might have the pitcher's place.

  "And I can't do that," declared Tom to himself. "I'll have to find someother way. I'll make one more try with Langridge."

  Sid's limp did not save him in Latin, for he "slumped" most ungracefully,and with a black look Professor Tines marked a failure against him,accompanying it with words of warning. As for Tom, his worry over thesecret caused him to pay too scant attention in his geography class, andhe was caught napping, whereat the instructor looked surprised, for Tomwas one of the best students.

  The next day the scrub team went on a little trip to Morriston to play asmall semi-professional nine, and Tom had a chance to show what he coulddo in the box. He gave a fine exhibition of pitching, so much so thatthe other nine was held down to a goose-egg score, and there were veryfew hits secured off Tom. The scrubs were wild about it and held acelebration, for it was the best victory they had scored yet.

  During the next few days Tom saw little of Langridge. In fact the'varsity pitcher seemed to be keeping out of the way of the lad who hadremonstrated with him.

  "I'll see him at the Boxer game Saturday," thought Tom. "If I get achance, I'll make one more attempt, though I'm afraid it won't do anygood."

  The next Boxer contest was a sort of annual mid-season affair. It wasa game which members of the alumnae of both colleges made it a pointto attend in even greater numbers than at the contests deciding thechampionship. In fact of late years there had been no chance for suchexhibitions, for Randall did not have a "look in" at the pennant, asHolly Cross used to say.

  The game was to take place on the Randall grounds, and before the hourwhen it was to be played the stands and bleachers began filling up. Itwas a beautiful afternoon about the middle of May and a better one for agame could not have been had, even if made to order.

  Oh, how Tom wanted to play! But he could only look on. The regular teamcame out for practice, with the substitutes waiting for a chance togo in. Then out trotted the Boxer Hall lads, to be received with acheer. There were pretty girls galore, each one waving the flag of herparticular college. Tom moved about in the grandstand, trying to pretendto himself that he was not looking for any one, but all the same hisheart gave a great thump when he heard some one call:

  "Tom! Mr. Parsons!"

  "Why, how do you do, Miss Tyler?" he exclaimed. "I didn't know you werecoming."

  "Oh, yes, I wouldn't miss this for anything. I just love to see the oldgraduates. They are so interesting, just as if they were boys again."

  She made room for Tom beside her, and he gladly availed himself of thechance.

  "Yes, there are quite a few of the old boys on hand to-day," heremarked. "Look at those two," and he pointed to two well-dressed men,each attired in a tall silk hat and a frock coat. They each had agold-headed cane and they were very staid in looks, yet at the sight ofeach other they rose in their seats, clasped hands across the heads ofintervening persons and one, the elder, cried out:

  "Well, well! If it isn't old Skeeziks! How are you? I haven't seen yousince I graduated in '73!"

  "Nor me you, you old fish-pedler! How are things? Do you remember theday we kidnaped Mrs. Maguire and took all her chickens?"

  "Hush! Not so loud!" cautioned the other, his face breaking into smiles."The faculty never found out who did that, and there's no use tellingnow. But I am glad to see you. Do you think our boys will win?"

  "I hope so, though I see by the papers they haven't been playing as goodball as when we went to school. They need a little ginger."

  "That's right. I wish I was young again. We certainly had some greatgames."

  On all sides similar scenes were being enacted and like reminiscenceswere being exchanged. It was a great day for the "old grads," and theytook advantage of it. Many there were also from Boxer, though theyoccupied a different part of the grandstand. However, they exchangedvisits with their former rivals during the practice.

  Ford Fenton was in his element. His uncle, who had been a coach atRandall, was on hand, and Ford was showing him off as if he was a prizeanimal at a county fair.

  Ford wanted to take his uncle around and introduce him to his classmates,but Mr. Fenton declined, as he wanted to meet some of his old friends.But this did not deter Ford from going about telling the news, and aboutall he could be heard to say was:

  "My uncle, the former coach, is here. He came to see the game. My unclesays----"

  Then the long-suffering ones would turn away, or if they were lads whohad no particular regard for Ford's feelings, they would guy himunmercifully.

  "Hi, Ford!" cried Holly Cross after about half an hour of this sort ofthing, "have you heard the latest?"

  "No. What is it?"

  "Why, 'my uncle' says that if you don't stop talking about him, he'sgoing to leave and take you with him. He says he's being 'uncled' todeath."

  "Ha! ha!" laughed Dutch Housenlager. "T
hat's right, Ford, that's right,"and he pretended to collide accidentally with the lad, knocking himagainst Holly, who promptly pushed him back.

  But now practice was over. The rival captains were in conference, theumpire was taking the new ball from the tinfoil wrapping and thespectators were settling back for the contest.

  "Boxer has improved since the other game," said Tom, who had beencritically watching the teams at practice.

  "That's what I heard," replied Miss Tyler. "Oh, I do hope our boys willwin!"

  "So do I," exclaimed Tom as he watched Langridge, who was first to go tothe bat, in this game the visitors winning the privilege of being lastup. Tom tried to notice the 'varsity pitcher, to see if he was in goodform, but he could not judge then.

  "Play ball!" called the umpire, and Dave Ogden, the Boxer pitcher, drewback his arm to deliver a swift curve.