CHAPTER XXIX
ANTICIPATIONS
Tom became dimly aware that he was climbing up from some great depth. Itwas hard work, and he felt as if he was lifting the whole world on hisshoulders. No, it was all on one arm--his right--and the pain of it madehim wince.
Then he realized that some one was calling him, shaking him, and he feltas if he had tumbled, head first, into some snow drift.
"Wake up, Tom! Are you all right, old man? What happened? Here, swallowsome more water."
He opened his eyes. He saw in the darkness some one bending over him.
"What's the--where am----" he began, and he was again seized with afeeling of weakness.
"You're all right, old chap," he heard some one saying. "You had a badfall, that's all."
"Phil!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, it's me, Clinton. They tried to put me in there, but I fought 'em,and then there came a yell for help for the sophs who were bringing upa lot of our fellows, and the ones who had me and those on guard cut forit. I guess our lads got away. I heard a row back here and came to seewhat it was. Are you all right now? Can you walk? If you can, we'll goon to the dinner. We've beaten out the sophs. Can you manage?"
"I--I guess so," replied Tom, who was feeling stronger every moment. Ifonly that terrible pain in his arm would cease. "Where's Langridge?" heasked.
"Langridge? He isn't around. I haven't seen him to-night at all,"answered Clinton. "Feeling better?"
"Yes, I'm all right. Only my arm."
"Is it broken?"
"No, only bruised. Some one kicked--I guess I must have fallen on it,"Tom corrected himself quickly. His mind was in a tumult over what hadhappened. He had seen Langridge plainly in the light of a lanterncarried by one of the sophomores, and he felt that Langridge musthave seen him, for the gleam struck full on his face. Yet why hadthe 'varsity pitcher attacked Tom? Could he have mistaken him for asophomore? Tom hardly thought so, yet the kick had been a savage one.His arm was swelling from it.
"Are you sure they didn't catch Langridge?" asked Tom as he stumbled onbeside Phil.
"Sure. He said he wasn't going to the dinner at all. Had a date in townwith some girl, I believe." Tom winced, not altogether with pain. "Whyare you so anxious about Langridge?" went on Phil.
"Nothing, only--only I thought I saw him around the shack."
"Must have been mistaken. You and I were the only ones they managed toget this far, and they wouldn't have had me, only about a dozen of themtackled me at once."
"That's what they did to me," admitted Tom.
"Our fellows made a mistake," declared Phil. "We should have been morefoxy. However, I think we all got away. The last bunch the sophs tackledwere too much for them, and they had to call for help. That's why thoseat the shack left it. But come on, we'll get to Haddonfield. It isn'tvery late."
Tom did not feel much like going to a dinner, but he repressed hisdisinclination and bit his lips to keep back little exclamations ofpain.
Phil and Tom, eluding the sophomores who prowled about in scatteredparties, found most of their chums gathered in the hall where the spreadwas arranged. They were greeted with cheers on their entrance and made totell their adventures, but Tom did not mention Langridge. He explainedhis injured arm by saying he had twisted it in his fall.
"Hope it doesn't knock you out from pitching, old man," spoke Sidsympathetically.
"It would if I had a chance to pitch," responded Tom, "but, as it is, Iguess it isn't going to make much difference."
Several other freshmen who had been caught by the sophomores, but whomanaged to escape, came straggling in, filled with excitement, and thedinner was soon under way, with many a toast imbibed in cider, gingerale or water, to the confusion of the sophomores and the success of thefreshmen.
"We fooled 'em good and proper!" cried Sid, who had been electedtoastmaster. "We put 'em to rout, and now let us eat, drink and make abig noise!"
Which they proceeded to do, undisturbed by any further attack of theirtraditional enemies.
Tom's arm pained him so before the dinner was over that he whispered toPhil that he was going to leave. The big center fielder agreed toaccompany Tom back to college, and without saying anything to the othersto break up the fun, they slipped quietly away. Dr. Marshall, of thefaculty, who was a physician as well as an instructor in physics andchemistry, looked critically at Tom's arm when Phil insisted that hischum get medical aid.
"You say you got that in a fall?" asked Dr. Marshall, examining Tom'selbow, which was red and much swollen.
"In a sort of a fall--yes, sir."
"Humph! It was a queer fall that caused that," said the physician. "Morelike a blow or a kick, I should say. You haven't been trying to ride ahorse, have you?"
"No, sir."
"Ha--hum!" ejaculated the doctor, but he asked no more questions, forhe had been a college lad in his day and he knew the ethics of suchmatters. "You can't play ball for a couple of weeks," he went on, "andyou'll have to carry that arm in a sling part of the time."
"Can't I pitch on the scrub?" asked Tom in dismay.
"Not unless you want to have an operation later," replied Dr. Marshallgrimly.
Tom sighed, but said no more.
Healthy blood in healthy bodies has a marvelous way of recuperatingone from injuries, and in a little over a week Tom's arm was so muchimproved that the doctor allowed him to dispense with the sling. In themiddle of the second week Tom started in on light practice at pitching,his place meanwhile on the scrub having been filled by another player.
"Now go slow, young man," advised Dr. Marshall as Tom one day sought andobtained permission to take part in a game against the 'varsity nine."You're only human, you know, but"--he added to himself as Tom hurriedaway--"you're like a young colt. A fine physique! I wish I were youngagain," and the good doctor sighed for the lost days of his youth.
In the meanwhile Tom had said nothing to Langridge. He reasoned it allout--that the 'varsity pitcher might have been captured as he was, and,in breaking loose, he might have mistaken Tom for one of the sophomores.Nor did Tom communicate in any way his suspicions to his chums. Heknew if he began asking questions intended to disclose whether or notLangridge had been among those captured some one would want to know hisobject.
"I might be mistaken," thought Tom, and he honestly hoped that he was."Anyhow, my arm is better, and I can pitch--at least on the scrub."
The game between the first and second teams that day was a "hot" one.Langridge seemed to have recovered mastery of himself and he pitchedsurprisingly well. Tom, because of his hurt, was not at his best. The'varsity lads were joyful when they beat the scrub by a big score.
"Well, now, if we do as well as that Saturday against Boxer Hall," saidKindlings Woodhouse, "we'll be all to the pepper hash, poeticallyspeaking."
"We've got to do a great deal better than this against Boxer," declaredCoach Lighton with a shake of his head.
"Why?" asked Langridge.
"Because much depends on this game. I don't know whether you boys havefigured it out, but we have a mighty slim chance for the pennant thisyear."
"Have we any?" asked Sid.
"Yes," replied the coach, "and it's just this. If we win the gameagainst Boxer----"
"Which we will," declared Langridge confidently.
"If we do," went on Mr. Lighton, "and also win the one the followingSaturday from Fairview, we will capture the pennant by a narrow margin."
"Hurrah!" cried Kindlings.
"Not so fast," admonished Mr. Lighton. "You boys will have to play ballas you never played it before and against rather heavy odds."
"How's that?" inquired Sid.
"Well, both games are away from your own grounds. You are to play BoxerHall on their diamond and the Fairview game takes place over at theco-ed institution. That means that they'll have a big crowd of rootersout, and you know what an incentive that is."
"We'll take a lot too!" cried Holly Cross.
"Sure, we'll organize
a cheering club," added Bricktop Molloy.
"And bring megaphones," declared Jerry Jackson.
"And phonographs," echoed his twin brother.
"Win the games, that's what you want to do!" said Mr. Lighton. "Win thegames! Play ball! Bat your best, you hard hitters. You that aren't sosure, practice. Fielders, get on to every fly as if you had glue on yourgloves. Kerr, play close up to the bat. Henderson, you want to practicejumping for high ones, for they do come high when the boys get excited.Langridge----"
"Yes, what about me?" drawled the pitcher.
"Pitch your very best," said Mr. Lighton, and there was a differentmeaning in his admonition than before. "Now don't let any chance go bywithout practice," he added as he turned toward the other members of thenine. "We've got our work cut out for us. I want to see Randall win thepennant."
"So do we!" shouted the others in a chorus as the coach left them.
And the days that followed were filled with anxiety and anticipation forthe members of the nine and those substitutes who hoped for a chance toplay. As for Tom Parsons, he felt that if he could pitch in one of thegames he would ask for nothing more. But he had small hopes.