"I'm not going to say what I mean. Only," and Sid suddenly sat up, "it may increase your chances of pitching on the 'varsity."

"I think I know," said Tom slowly, and he began to get ready for bed.

A practice game between the 'varsity and the scrub was called for the next afternoon. The first team was in rather disorganized shape yet.

That is to say, not all the players were in permanent positions and shifts were likely to be made at any time as practice brought out defects or merits. It was even said that some now on the 'varsity might be relegated to the scrub and some from the second team advanced. Tom secretly hoped so in his case, but his common sense told him he stood a slim chance. Langridge, of course, was pitcher on the first team and Kerr was the catcher. Kindlings Woodhouse played on third, where he could direct the efforts of his men.

When the scrub and regular teams were out on the diamond ready for the practice game Kindlings looked over his players.

"Where's Sid Henderson?" he asked.

"He got turned back in Latin at last cla.s.s," volunteered Jerry Jackson.

"Here he comes now," added Joe Jackson, as if he was an echo to his brother.

Sid came running up, all out of breath, b.u.t.toning his blouse as he advanced.

"What's the matter, son?" asked the captain.

"That rotten Latin."

"Be careful," warned Kindlings. "Don't slump too often or you may put us in a hole. You aren't the only first baseman that ever lived, but you're pretty good, and I don't want to go to work training you in and have you fired off the team by the faculty for not keeping up your studies."

"Oh, I'll be careful," promised Sid confidently, and then the game started.

The 'varsity played snappy ball and the scrub seemed a bit ragged, naturally perhaps as there was less incentive for them to play hard.

"Brace up, fellows," implored Tom toward the close of the game. "They're only four runs ahead of us, and if we can knock out a couple of three-baggers we'll throw a scare into them. They're weak in right and left field. Soak the horsehide toward either of the twins, but don't get it near Phil Clinton. If he gets it within a foot of his mitt, it's a goner."

"It's a wonder you wouldn't strike out more men," said Fenton. "My uncle says that when he was a coach----"

"Play ball!" yelled the umpire, and the reminiscence was cut short.

The scrubs did "take a brace" and began finding the curves of Langridge, much to that pitcher's annoyance. Tom made a neat two-bagger, but died on third, though the score was bettered in favor of the scrub by two more runs.

Tom went to his box with a firm step and a more certain feeling about his ability than he had ever experienced before. He was sure he could strike out at least two men, and he did so, including Langridge and Holly Cross.

Holly, who was a good batter, was laughed at by his chums.

"You'll have to do better than that," warned Langridge.

"Do better yourself," retorted Holly. "I didn't want to hit it, anyhow.

I was giving you an imitation of how close I could come to it and miss it."

"Those imitations don't do on this circuit," added the tall Kindlings.

"It's mighty risky in a game."

"Oh, yes, in a game," admitted Holly with a laugh.

Tom gave one man a chance to walk and the next popped out a fly that Dutch Housenlager neatly gathered in. The game ended with no runs for the 'varsity in the last inning and they had beaten the scrub by only two runs.

"It might be worse," said Mr. Lighton grimly as the teams filed off the diamond. "It might be worse, Woodhouse, but I don't like it."

"Neither do I," admitted the captain gloomily. "We tackle Boxer Hall in the first of the league series next week, and I think I'll have to make some more shifts. What do you think of Langridge?"

"Well, he's all right--yet. If he doesn't----" The coach stopped suddenly, seemed about to say something and then evidently thought better of it. "At any rate," he finished, "if worst comes to worst, we can put Parsons in. He's improving every day, and with a little more coaching so that he isn't quite so awkward and can run better, he'll make a star player. He'll be on the first team next year."

"He wants to get on this year."

"Perhaps he will," and with that the coach walked off rather abruptly.

CHAPTER IX

A GAME WITH BOXER HALL

The grandstand was filled with cheering students. In one section were the cohorts of Randall College, led in giving their cries by "Bean"

Perkins, who had a voice like unto that of some fog horn. There was a ma.s.s of glowing colors as flags and streamers were waved in the wind.

In another part of the stand a smaller but no less enthusiastic throng sent up exultant cries of rivalry, calling out repeatedly: "Boxer!

Boxer! Boxer!"

Scattered among the students in each of the two divisions of the stand were girls and more girls, all of them pretty, at least in the eyes of their admirers, and all of them sporting one college colors or the other.

The bleachers were filled by ardent supporters of the game who were not so particular about having a roof over their heads and who, for one reason or another, had to look to the difference in cost between a grandstand ticket and one on the side benches.

It was the occasion of the first regular game of the season in the Tonoka Lake League between Randall College and Boxer Hall. As the opposing players came out for warm-up practice the yells, cheers and cries were redoubled, and the stands seemed a waving riot of colors, like some great bed of flowers.

The sounds of b.a.l.l.s impinging on thick mitts, of willow bats cracking out hot liners or lofty flies were heard all over the diamond. Never had the gra.s.s seemed greener and never had the field looked so inviting. It was a perfect day for the game.

There was not a little anxiousness on the part of the Randall players as they "sized up" their opponents. They found them a st.u.r.dy lot of youngsters.

"They're playing snappy ball," observed Coach Lighton to Captain Woodhouse.

"Yes, and so will we," predicted Kindlings. "Just watch us."

"I intend to. That's why I'm out here. Now let me give you and Langridge a few pointers," and he called the pitcher to him, the three strolling off to one side of the field.

Tom Parsons was on hand, and it does him no discredit when it is stated that there was a feeling of envy in his heart. But it was honest envy.

He wanted to get out on the diamond and do his share in helping the Randall team to win. But he could only look on and cheer with the others.

To win or lose the first game meant much to either team. Not so much to Boxer Hall, perhaps, as that team had run Fairview Inst.i.tute a close second for the championship, but to Randall the winning of the game might put the necessary "snap" into the lads, while to lose it might so discourage them that it would be well on in the season before they would "take a brace."

So it is no wonder that there was a feeling of nervousness on the part of the coach and the players.

The practice was over. The preliminaries had been arranged, the home team, Randall, having the privilege of being last to bat. Langridge, with final instructions from the coach, took his place in the box.