Part 43 (1/2)

His first ball was wild and there was an anxious feeling in the hearts of his chums. But he steadied almost at once and his next two deliveries were called strikes.

”Here's where you fan!” he called to Pinky Davenport, who was up.

”Do I? Watch me,” replied Pinky, but he only hit the wind.

”That's the way to do it!” called a shrill voice from the grandstand.

”Fine, Langridge!”

”All right, don't tell us what your uncle said,” retorted the pitcher.

”Keep that back, Fenton,” for it was the boy with the ever-present relative who had yelled, and there was laughter at the pitcher's jibe.

Langridge had never done better work than in that first inning when, after pa.s.sing the hardest hitter of the Boxers to first purposely, in order to make sure of one of their weakest stick-wielders, the Randall twirler struck him neatly out, and the rivals of Randall were rewarded with a neat little white circle.

In the next inning Jerry Jackson was first up and he ingloriously fanned, but Phil Clinton earned fame for himself in the annals of his _alma mater_ by bringing in a home run--the only one of the game.

Langridge kept up his phenomenal work and another pale zero went up for Boxer, while Randall had a single mark that loomed big before the eyes of the cheering throng.

But the hopes of those who wanted to see Randall win suffered a severe setback, for in the next two innings they could not score, while in each frame for the Boxers there were two runs chalked.

”Four to one,” remarked Tom to Phil Clinton. ”They're crawling up. I wonder if we have any show?”

”The game is young yet,” answered Phil. ”I think we will do them.”

Randall got one run in the fifth and Langridge was the lucky player who brought it in. He showed his elation.

”Oh, we've got 'em on the run!” he cried, and then he went into the dressing-room. There was a queer look on Tom's face as his eyes sought those of Sid, and the latter shook his head. Coach Lighton, too, seemed anxious. He watched for the reappearance of Langridge, but his attention was occupied for a moment when Woodhouse knocked a neat fly. The captain was steaming away for first, but the ball was also on its way there and both arrived about the same time.

”Out!” cried the umpire, and a dispute at once arose. The Randalls had to give in, though it was manifestly unfair. When Langridge came out of the dressing-room there was a noticeable change in his manner. His breath smelled of cloves, and Sid, who noticed it, made a despairing gesture. A little later Housenlager hit the breeze strongly and went out, the score at the ending of the fifth inning being 4 to 2 in favor of the Boxer team.

”Now, Langridge,” said the coach earnestly, ”it depends on you. If you can hold them down, we are pretty sure of winning, even if we have to go ten innings, for some of our batters have Ogden's measure.”

”I'll do it!” cried Langridge. ”You watch me!”

But he failed miserably. He did manage to strike out two men, for there was snap and vicious vim in the way he delivered the b.a.l.l.s, but suddenly, when the influence of the stimulant he had taken wore off, he went to pieces and the Boxers piled in five runs before they were stopped by a remarkable brace in the Randall fielding contingent.

There was a steely look in the eyes of Coach Lighton as the Randalls came in for their turn to bat in the sixth inning.

”I'll do better next time,” promised Langridge, but he spoke rather languidly.

”No, you'll not!” exclaimed the coach.

”Why not?” and the pitcher seemed suddenly awakened.

”Because you're not going to pitch next inning!”

”I'm not?”

”No, you're not.”

”I guess I'm manager of this team.”