CHAPTER XXXII
THE FINAL CONTEST
Langridge stood before his rival, waiting. It was quiet in the littleroom, so quiet that the ticking of the alarm clock sounded loud. Outsidecould be heard the tramp of feet in the corridor, students going to andfro. Langridge glanced nervously at the door. He was plainly afraid lestsome one should enter and find him there.
It was a hard problem for Tom to solve. The appeal of the lad who haddone much to injure him moved him strongly. He knew what it would meanto Langridge not to pitch--that he would be out of athletics for therest of his college course. If Tom gave way in his favor, it would meanhis rehabilitation and for Tom only a temporary loss of prestige.
"Will you do it?" asked Langridge softly.
Tom did not answer. He paced up and down the room. What ought he to say?He felt that he could afford to sacrifice his own interests--could evenforego the high honor of pitching in what was the greatest game of thecollege year--for the sake of Langridge. If he did not and if Langridgewent away disheartened, it might mean that he would plunge deeper intodissipation. Then there came to Tom the thought of the nine. Was it fairto the others, to the college?
Something told him it was not, that it was his duty to pitch--to do hisbest--to win for the sake of the college and the nine. Langridge mightpossibly do it, but it was doubtful. The former pitcher could not besure of himself, sure that he had mastered his desire for stimulant.Then Tom decided, not on his own account but for the sake of the teamand the college.
"I can't do it, Langridge," he replied, and his voice showed the anguishhe felt at the pain he inflicted.
"Then you'll pitch?" asked his rival.
"Yes, I feel that I must. The team depends on me, and--and I can't goback on them."
Langridge must have seen that Tom's answer was final, for without a wordhe turned and left the room.
Then Tom felt a wave of remorse sweep over him. After all, had he doneright? Had he done the best thing? He was almost on the point of rushingafter Langridge and telling him he could pitch in the final game, forthe memory of his face haunted Tom. But when his hand was on the knob ofthe door Sid entered.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom's chum, looking curiously at him.
"Nothing. Why?"
"You look as if you had been seeing ghosts."
"Well, I have--a sort of one," answered Tom with an uneasy laugh. "How'dyou make out with the Latin?"
"Pretty punk, I guess. Bricktop says I've got to put in all my sparetime boning. If I slump and can't play that last game, I'll--I'll----"
"Don't you dare slump!" cried Tom earnestly. "We can't put a new man onfirst at this late day. Don't you dare slump, Sid."
"Oh, I'll try not to," and Sid dumped himself down in the easy chair andwith an air of dogged determination began devouring Latin verbs.
The 'varsity had had its final practice against the scrub, with Tom inthe box for the first team. He was beginning to take it as a matter ofcourse and acquiring that which he needed most--confidence in himself.The scrub pitcher who had replaced him was good, but he was pretty wellbatted, while very few hits, and these only one-baggers, were securedoff Tom.
"Boys," said Mr. Lighton two days before the game, "I think I can seeour way clear to the Tonoka Lake League pennant. Now take it easyto-morrow, a little light exercise, be careful of what you eat, don'tget nervous, go to bed early and sleep well. Then Saturday afternoonwe'll go to Fairview and bring back the banner."
"Three cheers for our coach!" called Kerr, and Mr. Lighton, veteran thathe was, blushed with pleasure.
"I hope we win," remarked Ford Fenton as the team walked to thedressing-rooms. "My uncle says----"
But Kerr threw his big catching mitt with such good aim that it struckFenton full in the face.
"Here--huh! ho! What'd you do that for?" he demanded.
"I didn't want you to wear out that uncle of yours," was the cool answer."It's getting warm weather now and you'd better can him so he'll keepuntil next year."
Ford scowled and then laughed, for he was good-natured in spite of hisone failing.
Sid entered the room where Tom was late that afternoon with a worriedlook on his face.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom in alarm.
"Pitchfork has decided to have a special Latin exam to-morrow for myclass. Wow! I was counting on it going over, but it won't, and I've gotto take it to-morrow."
"Well?"
"No, not well--bad. If I slump, do you know what it means?"
"You can't play against Fairview?"
"Exactly. Oh, Tom, I'm as nervous as a girl before her first big party.Here, coach me a bit," and Tom, taking the books, gave Sid what help hecould until they were both so tired and sleepy that Tom insisted thatbed was the only place for them.
The news spread the next day. Sid was the only member of the team whowas in the special Latin class, and consequently the only one who had togo through the ordeal. When he went into recitation his mates on theteam gathered in silent conclave on the diamond.
"If Sid slumps," spoke Captain Woodhouse, "I don't----"
"Don't talk about it," pleaded Bricktop Molloy.
"If he does, couldn't we play Langridge on first?" suggested PhilClinton. "He used to practice there."
"Langridge is down and out," declared Kerr. "I don't know what's comeover him. He won't speak to me any more. I guess he knows he's got to doa lot of studying to pass, and he must be tutoring with some grind. Hekeeps himself mighty scarce. I don't believe he'd play."
"No, we couldn't use him," said Kindlings. "It all depends on Sid. Iwish the exam was over. It's like waiting for a jury to come in."
The whole team was on tenterhooks. No one felt like talking, and someone would start a topic only to witness it die a natural death. Themembers of the nine paced to and fro on the diamond. They were waitingfor news from Sid. If he did not pass he could not play, and itpractically meant a lowering of their chances for the pennant.
An hour went by. A few lads began coming from the recitation room wherethe examination was being held.
"Some of them have finished," commented Tom. "Let's ask 'em how Sid'smaking out."
One of the Latin students strolled over toward where the ball playerswere.
"How's Henderson doing?" asked Kindlings.
"Sweating like a cart horse," was the characteristic answer. "It's astiff exam all right."
There was a groan in concert and the anxious waiting was resumed.Fifteen minutes passed. Several more students had come from the room.
"Where can he be?" murmured Tom.
"There he comes!" cried Phil Clinton as Sid appeared, coming slowlytoward the group.
"I'll bet he failed," said Kindlings solemnly. Certainly in Sid'sapproach there was not the air of a conqueror.
All at once he stopped, bent down to the ground and appeared to betearing something to pieces.
"What's he doing?" asked Tom.
"Let's go see," proposed Kerr.
They advanced and beheld a curious sight. Sid was tearing up a book andmaking a little heap of the leaves. A moment later he touched a matchto the pile, and the paper began to burn.
"What in the world are you doing?" called Tom.
"Did you pass?" fairly roared Kindlings.
"Sure," replied Sid as calmly as if he had always expected to. "I passedwith honors, and now I'm destroying the evidence. I'm applying the torchto Caesar's Commentaries and I'll never open a book like it again in mylife. Come on, fellows, join the festive throng. Tra la la! Merrily dowe sing."
He began prancing about and the others, with yells of joy, joined in.Sid would cover first base for them in the big game.
With a tooting of auto horns, the waving of many flags, shouts, cheers,yells of encouragement, laughter from many pretty girls, the waving ofhandkerchiefs, renditions of the college yell the ball nine and itssupporters started the next day in a long cavalcade for Fairview.
Several automobiles had been provided for the use
of the team, and inone of these rode Tom and Miss Tyler, whom he had called for at her homethat morning. A number of ladies went along as chaperones for the girlsof Haddonfield.
Dr. Churchill and most of the faculty also went to the game.
"Aren't you coming, Professor Tines?" asked the head of the college ashe and the other instructors were about to start.
"No, I don't care much for baseball. I shall remain here and arrange foranother Latin examination for some of the students."
Sid groaned and his chums laughed, whereat Professor Tines frowned.
"Do you think you'll win?" asked Miss Tyler as she sat next to Tom.
"I'm sure of it," he answered promptly.
When the Randall team and its supporters arrived they found a big throngpresent to greet them. Even their opponents sent out a ringing cheer ofwelcome. The Fairview nine was out on the diamond practicing.
"Snappy work," observed Tom critically as the batting and catching wasunder way.
"Oh, we can do just as good," asserted Kindlings. "Don't get nervousnow. You've got to pitch your head off."
Some one started the Randall college song, "_Aut vincere aut mori_," andas the beautiful strains floated over the diamond when the playerspoured out from the dressing-rooms the team came to a sudden halt.
"That's it, fellows," said Kindlings solemnly, "'Either we conquer or wedie!' Play for all that's in you and then some more," and he laughed.
Auto horns tooted blatantly, girls cried in their clear, shrill voices,the lady contingent of Fairview rendering some weird yells. Then therewere the hoarse voices of the boys, to which answered the cheers ofRandall. The grandstand and bleachers were waving geometrical figures ofbrilliant hues. It was an inspiring sight. No wonder that the playersfelt nerved to do their best, for on the result of the game dependedmuch.
Kindlings missed the call when the coin was spun, and he and his men hadto start the hitting. But they did not mind this, and when, in therevised batting order, Kerr went up first, he "poked his stick into thehorsehide for a two-bagger," as Holly Cross said. There was a yell thatcould have been heard a mile and every Randall lad was on his feetshouting:
"Go on! go on! go on!"
But Kerr stopped at second prudently, for he would have been nabbed atthird. This opened the game and the play at once became hot. Randallscored two runs that inning and Tom, giving walking papers to aparticularly heavy hitter, managed to come out of the initial ordealwithout a hit being registered against him.
The Randall boys went wild then and began the song, "When Fairview awokefrom her sweet dream of peace," which was repeated again and again.
But the next three innings saw only the negative sign chalked up in theframe on the scoreboard given over to Randall, while in the last half ofthe fourth Fairview secured a run, for one of the players "got theIndian sign" on Tom, to quote Holly Cross, who was an expert in diamondslang, and "bit his initials in the spheroid for a three-bagger." Therun would not have been scored, for there were two men out, only JoeJackson made what seemed to be an inexcusable fumble, and the runnercame in. Still it looked safe for Randall until the fatal seventhinning.
For some teams this is held to be a lucky one, but it was not forRandall. Tom was doing his best, but in delivering one ball he gave hisarm a peculiar wrench, and a sharp twinge of pain in the region whereLangridge had kicked him made him wince. After that he could not controlhis curves so well, and three men made safeties off him, a trio of runsbeing registered. The score was 4 to 2 in favor of Fairview at the closeof the seventh. Kindlings looked grave and Coach Lighton paced nervouslyto and fro.
"What's the matter, old man?" the captain asked Tom.
"Nothing much," was the answer. "I gave my arm a little twist, that'sall."
"Come inside and we'll massage it," proposed Mr. Lighton, who was alwaysready for emergencies, and he and Kindlings rubbed some liniment onTom's joint. It felt a little better, and Tom said so, though when hewent into the box, following an inning when Bricktop Molloy brought inone run, the pitcher was in considerable misery. He shut his teethgrimly, however, and resolved to do his best, though to deliver his mosteffective curves meant to give himself much pain.
Tom only allowed two hits and one run came in, making the score at theending of the eighth inning 5 to 3 in favor of Fairview.
How the co-eds shouted and cheered then and there was correspondinggloom among the Randallites until once more that grand old song, "_Autvincere aut mori_," welled forth and gave confidence to an almostdespairing nine.
"It's about our last chance, fellows," said Kindlings grimly as hewalked to the bat.
He waited for a good ball, though two strikes were called on him, andthen, with a mighty sweep of his strong arms, he sent the sphere awayout into the field.
"A good hit! Oh, a pretty hit!" yelled Phil Clinton. "Run, old man!Run!"
And how Kindlings could run! On and on he leaped, around first base,speeding toward second, while the stands were in a frenzy of excitement.
"Third! third!" cried the coach, for the left fielder was still afterthe ball.
Kindlings was running strong, and he had now started home. Would hereach it? The fielder had the ball now. With a terrific heave he sent itto the third baseman, but Kindlings was half way home. Then ensued acurious scene. The baseman was afraid to throw the ball to the catcher,for Kindlings, who was tall and was running upright, was in the way. Thebaseman started to trail the captain down. There was a race. Kindlingslooked back and decided to keep on to home. The catcher was leapingabout excitedly.
"Throw the ball! throw the ball!" he yelled. But the baseman thought hecould outrun Kindlings. He almost succeeded and then, when he saw it wastoo late, he tossed the ball over the captain's head to the catcher.Kindlings dropped and, amid a cloud of dust, slid home.
Like a flash the hand of the catcher holding the ball shot toward him.There was a moment of suspense.
"Safe!" howled the umpire, and one more run went to the credit ofRandall.
Tom brought in another not so sensational, but it counted. He knocked apretty fly, which sailed over the second baseman's head and the pitchergot to first, stole second and came in with a rush on a swift grounderbunt that Phil Clinton sacrificed on under orders.