Part 23 (1/2)

”No, I merely make that suggestion to you.”

The captain looked at the manager. Langridge stood with a supercilious smile on his face.

”I presume I shall have something to say as manager,” he remarked.

”Certainly,” admitted the coach gravely.

”Then I say Parsons shan't act as subst.i.tute pitcher. I'm good for the season, and I'm going to play it out. I see his game. He wants to oust me and he's taken this means of doing it. He got you to plead for him, Mr. Lighton. I'll not stand for it.”

”You're entirely mistaken, Langridge,” said the coach, with the least suspicion of annoyance in his even voice. ”It is my own idea. Parsons does not even know that I have spoken to you; in fact, I believe that he would not allow me to.”

Langridge was sneering now.

”I guess he would,” he said.

”Then you, as manager, don't want Parsons as subst.i.tute pitcher?” asked the coach.

”No!” snapped Langridge.

”Of course if you order it, Mr. Lighton,” began honest Kindlings with an uneasy look at the coach--”of course if you make a point of it----”

”No, I don't,” and Mr. Lighton spoke quietly. ”That was not my intention--just yet. Parsons will remain on the scrub then, at least for the present. Later I may--er--I may make a point of it,” and he turned and walked away.

CHAPTER XV

A SOPh.o.m.oRE TRICK

While knowing nothing of the efforts Coach Lighton was making in his behalf, Tom continued hard practice at his pitching. Every day he made some improvement until his friends on the scrub regarded him as a marvel. But, as if some mysterious whisper had come to Langridge, the latter also showed improvement. He spent more time in practice and at one game, when it looked as if the scrub would beat the 'varsity, chiefly due to Tom's fine pitching, Langridge saved the day by brilliant work in the box. The coach was pleased at this and Tom could not help feeling that his chances were farther away than ever.

There were many other phases of college life, aside from baseball, that appealed to Tom. He liked his studies and he gave them more attention than perhaps any other lad of the sporting set. He was not a ”greasy dig,” by which was meant a student who burned midnight oil over his books, but he stood well in his cla.s.ses, for learning came naturally to him.

Not so, however, to his roommate. Poor Sid had to ”bone” away rather hard to get along, and, as he was required to put in a certain amount of time on the diamond, his lessons sometimes suffered. He was warned one day by Professor Tines, in the Latin cla.s.s, that if he did not show more improvement he would be conditioned and not allowed to play on the team.

”And that mustn't happen,” declared Captain Woodhouse. ”Take a brace, Sid. Don't go throwing us down now. It's too late to break in another first baseman.”

Sid promised, and, for a time, stood better in his cla.s.s. In the meanwhile other sports went on at Randall College. The crew was out every day on the river and the 'varsity eight-oared sh.e.l.l, several doubles and some singles held impromptu races. A freshman eight was formed and Tom was asked to join, but he wisely refused, for he reasoned that he could not give enough time to it to become a member of a racing crew without sacrificing either baseball or his studies, and he would do neither.

”But you'll never make the 'varsity nine,” argued Captain Bonsell, of the freshman crew. ”Much better to train with us, for I'll promise you a place in the boat when it comes to the champions.h.i.+p race. You'll never be the 'varsity pitcher.”

For Bonsell had looked with envy on Tom's big muscles.

”Well, I'm not going to give up until the last game,” declared Tom stoutly. ”Maybe I'll get a chance at the tail end. Langridge can't last forever, though far be it from me to wish him any bad luck.”

”I see,” spoke Bonsell with a laugh, ”the survival of the fittest. I wish you luck, old man.”

So Tom practiced and practiced and practiced until on the scrub his name became one to conjure with. But Langridge remained in his place on the 'varsity and Evert was the subst.i.tute pitcher. Between Tom and Langridge there was more than ever a coldness. It was not due to the sneaking act of the rich lad in not absolving Tom from blame in the wire episode, but might more properly be ascribed to the incident connected with Miss Tyler, though neither youth was willing to admit this. In spite of himself, Tom found that he was entertaining a certain indescribable feeling toward the girl. Often, at night, he would recall her laughing, tantalizing face as she walked away with Langridge.

”Hang it all!” Tom would exclaim to his pillow. ”He's not fit for her!

She ought to know it. I practically told her, yet she went off with him, after all. Confound it all, I can't understand girls, anyhow.”