Part 21 (2/2)

”Oh, well, because the pitcher seems to have to work so hard, and then to be defeated----”

”Yes, it was unpleasant--the defeat,” agreed Tom. ”But are you going out?”

”Yes, I came over with friends to see the game, but I seem to have missed them in the crush.”

”Then let me be your escort back to Haddonfield?” asked Tom. ”I'm rather by my lonesome, too.”

”Oh, thank you. I dare say----”

She paused and looked over the moving ma.s.s of students, boys and girls who were laughing happily or walking away dejectedly according to the colors they wore. Tom followed her gaze. He saw Langridge approaching and he knew that Miss Tyler had seen him also.

”There's Mr. Langridge!” she exclaimed. ”I wonder how he feels? He promised to meet me after the game.”

Tom took a sudden resolve. He did not stop to think that it might be a foolish one. He was actuated solely by what he argued to himself was a platonic interest in the pretty girl at his side. He had known her in childhood, he knew her people, and they were old friends of his folks.

Of late Tom had heard certain rumors about Langridge, nothing serious as rumors about college students go, but enough to make Tom glad that, in the case of his sisters, Langridge could not get to know them. It was therefore with somewhat the same feeling that he might have warned his sisters that he spoke to Miss Tyler.

”You and Mr. Langridge are quite friendly,” he said in what he intended to be a light tone.

”Oh, yes,” came the frank answer. ”I like him immensely. I like all college boys--when they're nice,” she finished with a little laugh.

Tom's face was grave, and she saw it. With a girl's intuition she felt that there was something in the air, and, girl-like, she wanted to know what it was.

”Shouldn't I like him?” she demanded with an arch look.

”Well--er--that is--no, Miss Madge!” burst out Tom, speaking more loudly than he had intended to. ”You won't mind me speaking about it, for I've known you so many years.”

”Oh, I'm not so ancient as all that!” exclaimed the girl rather pertly.

”No,” admitted Tom, and he felt that he was getting into deep water and beyond his depth. But he would not retreat and floundered on: ”No, but I--I know your folks wouldn't like you to go with Langridge--that is, too much, you know. He does not bear a very good----”

There was a hand on Tom's shoulder, and he felt himself wheeled suddenly around, to be confronted by Langridge. The pitcher had brushed his uniform and looked particularly handsome in a well-fitting suit, while there was a healthy glow to his face.

”Perhaps you'd better repeat over again, Parsons,” he said somewhat sternly, ”what you were just saying to Miss Tyler about me. I didn't catch it all!”

”I--er--I----” Tom was choking, and the girl bravely came to his relief.

”We were just talking about you,” she admitted with a nervous little laugh. ”I was saying how disheartening it must be to pitch through a hard game and then lose it. And Tom--I mean Mr. Parsons, but I always call him Tom, for I've known him so long--he was just saying--er--he was just saying that you were rather--well, rather a flirt. I believe that was it, wasn't it, Tom?” and she looked quickly at him, but there was meaning in her glance.

Langridge kept his hand on Tom's shoulder and the two looked each other straight in the face unflinchingly. Miss Tyler lost some of her blushes and her cheeks began to pale. Then Tom spoke quietly.

”If you wish to know exactly what I said,” was his quiet but tense answer, ”I will tell you--later,” and he swung on his heel and started down the grandstand steps.

For an instant Langridge stared after him. Then, with a little laugh, he turned to Miss Tyler.

”Poor Parsons is sore because he's been suspended,” he said. ”He can't even pitch on the scrub. But how pretty you're looking to-day, Miss Madge.”

”Miss Tyler, please,” she corrected him.

<script>