Part 13 (2/2)
”Well, it's been made very clear to me that it's something different from being a big fish in a little puddle than acting the part of a small-sized finny resident in a more extended body of water, to put it scientifically.”
”Meaning what, if you don't mind translating?” came from Sid as he stretched out on the rather worn and springless sofa.
”Meaning that I had an idea that I was about as good as the next one in the pitching line, but I find I'm not.”
”Proceed,” came calmly from Sid, who had his eyes shut.
”No, I'm afraid I might disturb your slumbers,” said Tom quickly, and there was a curious change in his voice.
Sid sat up quickly.
”I beg your pardon, old man,” he exclaimed. ”I was listening all right and I'm interested, honest I am. Only my eyes hurt to-night. But it must be quite different, coming from a small village to a fairly large college. Did you have a good nine at Northville?”
”Well,” went on Tom, somewhat mollified at his chum's interest, ”we cleaned up all the other nines around there. I was considered a crackajack pitcher, but I guess now the reason for that may have been that the others were rotten batsmen.”
”There's something in that,” admitted Sid judicially. ”You see, things are peculiar here. Now take Langridge. n.o.body, unless it's Kerr and a few others, cares much about him. Yet he's a fairly consistent pitcher, and he's the best they've had in some years, they tell me. Now our college has had rather hard luck on the diamond, especially in the Tonoka Lake League. There was a better chance of winning the champions.h.i.+p last year than in any previous one, but we didn't make good. It wasn't altogether Langridge's fault. He didn't have very good support, I'm told. Now they've decided to keep him on, or, rather he's engineered things so that, as manager, he keeps himself on. And there are some hopes of pulling out somewhere in the lead of the league this season. But Langridge is his own best friend.”
”And he keeps me from pitching on the 'varsity,” said Tom somewhat bitterly.
”Can you blame him?”
”No, I don't know that I can,” was the frank answer. ”I s'pose I'd do the same thing. But I hope in time to be a better pitcher than he is.”
”How are you coming on with the coach?”
”Fine. Mr. Lighton has given me some good pointers, and I needed them.
My curves are all right and so is my speed. It's my control that's weak, and I'm getting rid of some of my faults.”
”We're going to have a practice game with you scrubs to-morrow or next day,” said Sid. ”Maybe you'll get a chance to show what you can do then.”
”I hope so. I want to show Langridge that he isn't the only bean in the pot, to put it poetically.”
”Very poetically,” murmured Sid, who seemed to be dozing off.
”Say, Sid,” exclaimed Tom suddenly, ”do you remember what you started to say about Langridge the other day and stopped?”
”Yes.”
”What was it?”
”I'd rather not tell. You'll probably find out for yourself before long.
I did, though not many know it.”
”You mean----”
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