Part 22 (1/2)

”Mayn't I even call you Miss Madge after I've been defeated in the game?” he pleaded, and he looked at her boldly. ”It would be--er--well, sort of soothing to me.”

”Would it?” and she laughed lightly.

”It surely would,” and he bent closer toward her.

”Well, then, you may--but only on occasions of defeat.”

”Then I'm going to lose every game,” he added promptly as he turned at her side and walked down the steps.

Tom Parsons, strolling alone over the now vacant diamond, saw them together, and there was a strange feeling in his heart.

CHAPTER XIV

TOM'S CURVES

There was lively practice of the Randall nine the following week, and Coach Lighton said some things that hurt, but they were needed. Nor was Langridge spared, though he affected not to mind the sharp admonition that he must pitch more consistently.

The nine played a game Sat.u.r.day with an outside team, more for practice than anything else, and won it ”hands down,” as Holly Cross said. But, after all, it was not much credit to the 'varsity, for their opponents were not as good as the college scrub. Holly caught, the period of Kerr's suspension not being up yet.

Tom kept at his practice, but he was more than glad when he could resume his cla.s.s work again and take his place on the second nine.

”Now we'll tackle work together,” said the coach one afternoon to Tom, for Mr. Lighton had not been allowed to give him directions during the suspension weeks. ”I hope you haven't gone stale, Parsons.”

”I hope not. Kerr and I have been sort of practicing together.”

”That's good. I hope, before the season is over, that you and he will go into a regular game together. If not, you'll have your 'innings' next year, if you progress as you have been doing.”

Tom was glad of the praise, but he would have been more glad of a chance to get on the 'varsity. Still he determined to do his best on the scrub, but it was hard and rather thankless work.

Mr. Lighton put him through a hard course of ”sprouts” that afternoon.

With some members of the scrub to bat against him, Tom sent in swift and puzzling b.a.l.l.s, for all the while his ability to curve was increasing and his control was improving. That afternoon he struck out six men in succession, retiring them without having given any one of them more than two b.a.l.l.s. It was very good work, and the fact that the men were not extraordinary good hitters did not detract from it.

”That's fine!” cried Mr. Lighton enthusiastically. ”I'm going to----”

But what he was going to do he did not say.

”They ought to make you subst.i.tute pitcher on the 'varsity team,” was the opinion of Dutch Housenlager when the practice was over. ”Rod Evert isn't one-two-six with you, and he doesn't do any practicing to speak of.”

”Maybe he feels that he doesn't have to, for Langridge seems to make good nearly every time,” spoke Tom.

”Aw, rats! All that keeps Langridge manager is his money. He certainly runs the financial end of the game to perfection. And if he wasn't manager he wouldn't be pitcher. But the fellows know he takes a lot of responsibility from them, and they're just easy enough to let things slide. Some day we'll be up against it. Langridge will be knocked out of the box, Evert won't be in form, and we'll lose the game.”

”Unless they call on 'yours truly,'” interjected Tom with a laugh.

”Exactly,” agreed Dutch seriously. ”That's my point. I wish they'd name you for sub. I'm going to ask----”

”No, no!” expostulated Tom quickly. ”If I can't get there on my own merits, I don't want it. No favors, please. I can wait.”

”Well, just as you say, of course. But say, there's the Gra.s.shopper.