The Rival Pitchers: A Story of College Baseball

  CHAPTER II

  A GOOD THROW

  There was excitement in the ranks of the freshmen. They formed in a ringabout Langridge, who once more prepared to throw the weight over thecross.

  "Hold 'em back, boys!" he pleaded. "We can do it. It won't take fiveminutes to get the clapper after the rope's up."

  "But first you've got to get it up," replied Clinton.

  "And I will. Cut out your knocking. Here goes!"

  Off to the right could be seen a confused mass of shadows moving towardthe chapel. They were the sophomores, who in some mysterious manner hadheard of the attempt to take the clapper, and who now determined toprevent it.

  "They're coming," said Kerr ominously.

  "I know it," answered Langridge desperately. "Keep still about it, can'tyou?" he asked fretfully. "You make me nervous, and I can't throwwell."

  "Humph! He must be a fine pitcher if he gets nervous," declared Clinton.

  Langridge glanced at the circle of freshmen about him. There were enoughof them to stand off the rush of the sophomores, who, as they camenearer, were observed to be rather few in number.

  "Here it goes!" exclaimed the rich youth, and he threw the lead weightwith all his force. It struck the cross, but did not carry the cord overthe arm.

  "At 'em, fellows! At 'em!" yelled the leading sophomores. "Tear 'emapart! Don't let 'em get the clapper!"

  There was a struggle on the outer fringe of freshmen, who crumpled upunder the attack of the second-year lads.

  "Hold 'em back!" yelled Langridge. There was no longer any need ofcaution.

  The sophomores were hurled back by the weight of superior numbers.Seeing this their leader hastily sent for reinforcements. Meanwhile theothers renewed their attack on the freshmen. Langridge prepared to makeanother cast.

  "He'll never do that in a week!" exclaimed Clinton in disgust. "Whydoesn't some one who can throw try it?"

  "I'll throw, all right!" cried Langridge, as he untangled the cord,which was in a mass at his feet. He was about to make another attempt,when a lad stepped to his side--a lad who was a stranger to the others.Where he had come from they did not know.

  "Let me try," he said pleasantly. "I used to be pretty fair at throwingstones. Your arm is tired, I guess."

  "Who are you?" demanded Langridge suspiciously. "Are you a soph? How'dyou get here?"

  "I'm not a soph," replied the other good-naturedly, in a pause thatfollowed a second hurling back of the attackers, who withdrew to waitfor reinforcements. "I'm a freshman. My name is Parsons--Tom Parsons.I'm a little late getting here this term. In fact, I just arrivedto-night. I was on my way from the depot to the college, when, as Icrossed the campus, I heard what was up. As I'm a freshman, I decided tojoin in. Hope it's all right."

  "I don't know you," said Langridge hesitatingly, fearing this was atrick of the enemy. "You may be a soph----"

  "No, I assure you I'm not," said Tom Parsons. "Wait a minute. Is thereany one here named Sidney Henderson?"

  "That's my name," replied Sid.

  "Then you ought to know me. I'm to room with you, I believe. At least, Ihave a letter from Dr. Albertus Churchill to that effect. He's quarteredme on you."

  "Oh, that's all right!" cried Henderson. "Parsons is a freshman, allright. I didn't remember about it. Sure, he's all right. It's a queertime to arrive, though."

  "Isn't it?" agreed Tom good-naturedly. "Couldn't help it, though. Trainwas late."

  "Here come some more sophs!" called Kerr.

  "Get that line over, for cats' sake!" demanded Clinton.

  "I will!" exclaimed Langridge.

  "Shall I throw it?" asked Tom. "I guess----"

  "I'll do my own throwing," replied the other coldly.

  "If he knows how to throw, let him try," suggested Clinton. "We want toget that clapper some time to-night."

  "Go ahead, Fred," urged Kerr. "I guess your arm ain't in shape yet."

  Langridge murmured something, but as there arose a general demand thathe let some one else try, and as a new body of sophomores were rushingdown to the attack, he handed over the lead weight.

  "Can you pitch?" he asked of Tom.

  "A little," was the quiet reply.

  The two faced each other in the darkness, as if trying to see of whatstuff each was made. It was the first time Tom Parsons and Fred Langridgemet, and it was rather prophetic that this first meeting should presageothers which were to follow, and in which the rivalry thus earlyestablished was to be fought out to the bitter end.

  "Hurry!" urged Kerr. "We're going to have our hands full now. They'regoing to rush us."

  Tom Parsons grasped the lead weight, and shook the cord to free it ofkinks. He stepped back a few feet, looked up in the darkness to wherethe cross was dimly visible, and then, drawing back his arm, sent thelead with great force and straight aim up into the air.

  "A good throw!" cried Sid Henderson, as the moon, just then coming outfrom behind a bank of clouds, showed that the cord had fallen squarelyover one arm of the cross, the weight coming down to the ground on theother side of the chapel.

  "A good throw!" echoed Clinton.

  "Humph!" growled Langridge. "I could have done as well on the next try."

  "Haul up the rope!" ordered Kerr. "Lively, now!"

  Several lads ran around to where the end of the cord, still attached tothe weight, was on the ground. All around a struggle was going on, thefreshmen endeavoring to hold back the attacking sophomores. Now and thena second-year lad would break through the protecting fringe, only to behurled or pushed back again by the defenders.

  Quick hands hauled on the cord, and the heavier rope rose in the airand slipped over the cross. It was held down on one side by severalturns taken around a post. Then it was made taut at the opposite end.

  "Shin up now, Snail!" cried Langridge, who had again assumed command ofthings. "Quick! We'll hold the rope! Get the clapper!"

  The night-loving youth moved slowly forward. But, in spite of his lackof speed, he managed to make good time up the rope, which he skilfullyascended hand over hand.

  "Don't let 'em get the clapper!" "Break through and yank down the rope!"were the cries of the sophomores.

  Again and again they hurled themselves against the circle of freshmen,who protected the two groups of their comrades holding either end of therope.

  "Hold 'em, boys! Hold 'em!" pleaded Langridge.

  Tom Parsons threw himself into the thick of the fight. He gave blows,and he took them, all in good nature. Once, when a small sophomore brokethrough, Tom picked him up bodily and deposited him outside the circleof defenders.

  "Say, he's got muscle, all right," observed Clinton to Kerr.

  "That's what. There's class there, all right. Shouldn't wonder but whathe'd give Langridge a rub for pitcher, if he plays baseball."

  "Oh, he'll play, all right. A fellow who can throw as he did can't helpplaying."

  "Who's that?" asked Sid in a breathing spell, following a temporaryrepulse of the enemy.

  "The new lad--Tom Parsons."

  "Oh, yes, he plays ball," said Sid. "His father knows my father. Theyused to be chums in Northville, a country town. That's how Tom happenedto come here, and he asked if he couldn't room with me. He plays ball,all right."

  "Pitch?" asked Clinton laconically.

  "I think so. Look out, here they come again!"

  The conversation was interrupted to repel another rush.

  "Look out below!" suddenly called the Snail from his perch near thecupola.

  "Got the clapper?" yelled Langridge.

  "Yep! Here it is!"

  Something fell with a thud in the midst of a group of freshmen. It wasthe bell clapper, which the Snail had unhooked. Tom Parsons made a divefor it.

  "I'll take that!" exclaimed Langridge roughly, as he shoved the newcomerto one side and grabbed up the mass of iron.

  "I was only going to help," replied Tom good-naturedly.

  "Cut with it!" ordered Kerr. "We can't hold 'em much lon
ger, and wedon't want 'em to get it now. Skip, Langridge. Take some interferencewith you."

  As if it was a football game, several lads made a sort of flying wedgein front of Langridge, with him inside the apex, and, thus protected, hebored through the mass of sophomores.

  "After him!" yelled several second-years, who had become aware of thetrick. "He's got the clapper!"

  Most of the lads rushed away from the chapel, only those remaining whowere holding the rope taut. Some of these even started away.

  "Hold on!" yelled the Snail. "I'm up here yet! I want to get down!"

  "Don't leave Sam up there!" cried Kerr. "Hold the rope, fellows, untilhe shins down."

  Several freshmen ran back.

  "I'll help hold," volunteered Tom, though there was a temptation to jointhe fighting throng that surrounded Langridge and his defenders.

  The Snail slid to the ground, the rope was pulled from the cross, andthe lads, coiling it up as they ran, hastened to the aid of theirfreshmen comrades.