"I suppose you got lots of letters from the pretty country la.s.ses, enclosing locks of their red hair," sneered Langridge.

"You bet I did," exclaimed Tom, still imitating a farmer's peculiarities, "but I want to tell ye suthin', an' when you come out Northville way, mebby you'll remember it." Then, suddenly becoming serious and with a change in his manner, he added: "I also used to get letters from gentlemen, but I don't believe you could write me one!" There was a snap in his words.

"What--what's that?" cried Langridge, taking a step toward Tom.

"You heard what I said," was the retort.

"That's the time you got yours all right, Langridge," exclaimed Phil Clinton. "You can't tell by the looks of a haystack how far a cow can jump, you know."

Langridge fairly glared at Tom. He seemed to want to make some reply, but the words stuck in his throat.

"I'll--I'll get----" he stammered, and then, turning on his heel, he linked his arm in that of Kerr and the two started off down the street.

"You held you own that time, Tom," said Sid as a little later they followed.

"Yes, I don't mind a joke, but he went a little too far. My people live in the country, and I'm proud of it, and proud of all my friends in Northville. But come on, let's get back to our room. I've got some studying to do."

CHAPTER VIII

AT PRACTICE

Following the exciting scenes of the pole rush it was rather difficult for any of the lads to settle down to study that night, but for some it was a necessity, and Tom and Sid were in this number. Tom, by reason of missing the first week of the term, was a little behind his cla.s.s, but he was a fine student, and the instructor saw that there would be no trouble for the lad in covering the lost ground. With Sid it was another matter. Though faithful and earnest, studying did not come easy for him, and, as he expressed it, he had to "bone away like a ground hog" to get facts and dates fixed in his mind. Consequently, because of the evening of fun, ten o'clock saw Sid and Tom busy in their room over their books.

For an hour or more nothing was heard but the occasional turning of the pages or the noise of a pencil being rapidly pushed across the paper. At length Tom, with a sigh of relief, closed his chemistry and remarked:

"There, I guess that will do for to-night. My eyes are tired."

"So are mine," added Sid. "I'm going to kiss this Latin prose good-night and put it to bed," and he threw the book under his cot. "Pleasant dreams," he added sarcastically. "Gee! but I hate Latin," he exclaimed.

"Why do you take it?"

"Oh, dad thinks I'll need it. I'd a heap sight rather learn to play the banjo."

"Not much comparison there, Sid."

"No, but don't mention comparison. That reminds me of grammar, and grammar reminds me of verbs, and verbs naturally bring to mind declension, and--there you are. Let's talk about something pleasant."

"What do you call pleasant?"

"Well, baseball, for instance, though maybe that isn't very pleasant for you, since you didn't make the first team."

"No," admitted Tom frankly, "it isn't pleasant to think about. I did want to get on the first team and I may yet. But I've learned one thing since coming here."

"That's good. Maybe I'd better call up Moses and tell him. He'll feel encouraged that some of the students are progressing."

"No, I wouldn't advise you to do that," spoke Tom with a laugh that showed his white, even teeth. "In fact, what I've learned didn't have much to do with books."

"What was it?"

"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 championship 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----"