"Of course you made a fuss," said Phil with a grin.

"Of course. I turned to apologize and so did she, and I knocked her hat all squeegee and she blushed and I got red, and then--well, I up and asked her if she had a brother at college."

"That's going some," commented Sid. "What did she say? Did you learn her name? Where does she live?"

"Fair and softly, little one," advised Tom, with a sort of a.s.sumed superciliousness. "Trust your Uncle Dudley for that."

He walked on a few paces.

"Well?" demanded Phil.

"Is that all?" cried Sid.

"No," said Tom, provokingly mysterious about it.

"Go on. Tell a fellow, do."

"What's the use?" asked Tom. "I saw her walking off after the game with another fellow."

"Who?" demanded his two chums.

"Langridge."

"With him?" exclaimed Sid, and there was a new meaning in his tones.

"Who was the girl?"

"Her name was Madge Tyler," replied Tom slowly.

"Madge Tyler!" repeated Sid. "Why, her brother used to go here. He graduated two years ago. He was a crackajack first baseman. And so Madge Tyler is going with Langridge?" he questioned.

"Or he with her," said Tom dryly. "I don't see that it makes much difference. Why, hasn't he got a right to?"

"Oh, I s'pose if you put it that way, he has," went on Sid. "Only----"

and he stopped abruptly.

"Only what?" asked Tom.

"Only--nothing. Say, here's a chance to buy me that seltzer lemonade. I think you ought to stand treat for Phil and me, Tom, seeing that if it hadn't been for us the game would have been lost and you wouldn't have met Miss Madge."

"I don't know that it has benefited me much," replied Tom.

"What do you mean, you old cart horse?" asked Phil, thumping his friend on the back. "Seeing the game won or meeting the pretty girl? I believe you said she was pretty."

"I didn't say so, but she is--very. But I meant about meeting her.

Langridge seems to have a mortgage in that direction, I fancy."

"He makes me sick!" exclaimed Phil. "He and the airs he gives himself.

But come on in here," and he turned toward a drug store. "I'm like a lime kiln, I'm so warm. It's your treat, Tom."

"All right, I'm willing."

"Did Miss Madge ask you to call?" inquired Phil as the three were wending their way toward college again.

"Yes."

"You don't say so! Well, it seems to me that for a new acquaintance you rushed matters fairly well."

"I forgot to add," said Tom slowly, "that I knew her before--back in Northville where I live. She moved away from there some years ago and I didn't recognize her at first. But she knew me at once."

"Wow! You old coffee percolator!" shouted Sid. "Why didn't you dish that out to us first, instead of letting us think you made an impression simply by the aid of your manly figure? So you knew her of old. Ha! ha!

Likewise ho! ho! I begin to smell a concealed rodent in the woodpile."

"You didn't give me a chance," was Tom's quiet answer, and then he fell to talking about the game until he and Sid got to their room. Later there were bonfires and fun galore in honor of the victory.

Coach Lighton gave the nine no rest. Early the next Monday afternoon, as soon as lessons were over, he had them out on the diamond playing against the scrub. Somewhat to the surprise of members of the second team as well as that of the 'varsity, Tom Parsons struck out an unusual number of players.

"You fellows will have to bat better than this," growled Langridge when practice was over and the 'varsity game had been saved merely by a fumble on the part of a scrub fielder. "This won't do."

"Physician, heal thyself," quoted Captain Woodhouse with a grim smile.

"You struck out twice, Langridge."

"I know it, but batting isn't my best specialty and it is for some of you fellows."

"True enough," admitted Kindlings gravely, "and we must brace up a bit for the game next Sat.u.r.day with Fairview."

"The captain is right, boys," added the coach. "You must do some hard hitting."

"Or else Tom Parsons mustn't pitch so well," said Phil Clinton in a low voice to Sid. "How about it?"

"That's right. He's improving wonderfully. Langridge will have to look to his pitching arm."

At that moment the wealthy youth pa.s.sed by Phil and Sid. He heard what they said, and if they could have seen his face then they would have been somewhat puzzled at the look on it. But neither Tom nor any of his friends saw.

It was the next day after the scrub game that as Tom was alone in his room, "boning" away on Latin, a knock sounded on the door.

"Come!" he cried, and, much to his surprise, Langridge entered.

"You're becoming a regular greasy dig, aren't you?" he asked pleasantly.

"Well, I've got to do some studying, you know. That's what I came here for."

"Yes, I know and all that sort of thing, but if you're going in for athletics you can't pound away at your books too hard."

"Oh, I guess what pounding I do won't hurt me," and Tom laid aside the volume, the while wondering why Langridge had called on him. Tom distinctly was not in the rich youth's set.

"I hope not," and the other's manner was becoming more and more cordial.

"But I say, Parsons, don't you want to help us get one in on the sophs?"