They had some difficulty in convincing the man of this, but did so finally, and he allowed them to pile in. They had to stand up and the road was rough. They were jolted about, for the truck was not built for easy riding, but they did not mind that, for they felt that there was a chance to play the game, and they urged the man to put on all speed.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE MAN ALLOWED THEM TO PILE IN]

They reached Dodville just as the game was about to be awarded to the preparatory school on a forfeit. The members of the Randall nine who had arrived in the second trolley car, which safely made the trip, could not explain the absence of their companions.

The game was started, but it was not remarkable for any brilliant work on the part of the college freshmen. In fact the other students played all around them. Possibly this was due to the episode that had occurred, for Langridge was nervous and threw wild, giving a number of men their bases on b.a.l.l.s. Kerr asked him to let Tom pitch, but Langridge refused arrogantly and with bitter words against the scrub twirler. Nor would he consent that Evert should fill the box.

"I'll pitch!" he cried excitedly. "I'll strike 'em out next inning. You watch."

Tom happened to be in the dressing-room when it was the turn of Randall to bat, and Langridge came in. The 'varsity pitcher did not see his rival, but going to where his valise was containing his clothing, he took something from it. Tom saw Langridge put a bottle to his lips.

"I wonder if he's taking medicine," he thought.

A moment later the pitcher hurried from the room as his name was called to bat. Tom walked to a window that gave a view of the grounds. As he pa.s.sed Langridge's valise he smelled a pungent, alcoholic odor. He started and for a moment could not tell what it was. Then it came to him.

"Liquor! He's been drinking liquor!" he almost exclaimed aloud. "He's broken the training rules. I wonder--I wonder if this is what Sid hinted at--if this is what Mr. Lighton meant!"

From the diamond there came a sharp crack. It was a bat meeting a swiftly pitched ball with that inspiring sound that indicates a fair hit. Tom saw Langridge speeding for first base, while Randall lads were yelling at the top of their voices.

"It's a three-bagger!" cried Tom delightedly, and so it proved, Langridge bringing in a run a moment later on a sacrifice hit by Holly Cross.

CHAPTER XVII

AN EXPOSTULATION

"Now we'll do 'em up!" cried Langridge, dancing about in a strange enthusiasm as he crossed the home plate. "Knock a home run, Kerr, and we'll roll up a score. Then I'll strike out the next six men."

There were but two more innings to play, and the run Langridge brought in had reduced the lead against the Randall freshmen from 6 to 5. But five runs are a big handicap, especially when you can't depend on your pitcher. Kerr struck out and so did Sid, who was up next. Langridge was disappointed, though not discouraged, and he made wild promises about what he was going to do. But he did not fulfil them and got careless in his pitching.

The game degenerated almost into a farce in the last inning, when Dodville piled up four runs, making the total score 17 to 5, it being the worst drubbing the Randalls had received in many years. The only consolation was that it was not the 'varsity team, but, as Kerr said, that was no excuse. There were almost jeers mingled with the cheers of the preparatory school lads, and it was a sore and sorrowful lot of freshmen who made their way to the special trolley cars, the stalled one having been brought up in the meanwhile.

"Who's eating cloves?" asked Sid Henderson as he piled into the electric and threw his big mitt on the seat beside him.

"Have some?" asked Langridge, holding out a quant.i.ty. "I had toothache and I took a few."

"No, thanks, don't use 'em," replied Sid with a quick look at the pitcher, whose eyes were unnaturally bright. "But if you have any ginger about you, it might come in handy."

"Ginger--how?"

"For this team. We need it. To be beaten by a bunch of schoolboys!"

"Well, we didn't have our regular team," explained Langridge. "Besides, I didn't have any support. I pitched well, but you fellows didn't back me up."

There was an arrogant look on his face.

"Yes, you pitched well, you did," exclaimed Kerr with an unconcealed sneer in his voice. "You did hot work, you did."

"What about my three-bagger?"

"That didn't make up for your rotten pitching!"

The others looked at Kerr in surprise. It was something new for him to find fault openly with Langridge. The latter felt it, too, and hardly knew what to say.

"Well, I--er--I----"

"Yes, make some excuse," went on the catcher bitterly. "We got dumped, and that's all there is to it. I'm not saying I did such brilliant work--none of us did--but you did rotten, Langridge, and you know it. It isn't as if you couldn't do better, for we all know you can. You've gone stale--or--or something!"

Tom had an idea what it was that had made the pitcher go "stale." His brilliant hit and run had been followed by a reaction, the result of the stimulant he took. It is always thus.

Langridge stared at Kerr, his most particular chum, and then, as if not understanding it, went off by himself in a corner of the car. It was not a jolly party that rode back to Randall College. Nor were matters much better when they arrived. The freshmen had to endure the taunts of the soph.o.m.ores concerning the trolley episode, as well as their own unexpressed disappointment at the result of the game.

"Sid," said Tom in their room that night, when his roommate was stretched out on the old creaking sofa--"Sid, if you knew some member of--er--well, the crew who didn't train properly--that is to say, did sneaking things on the sly--didn't keep in form for a race, what would you do?"

"How's that? Is some member of the crew trying to throw the college?"

cried Sid, suddenly sitting up.

"No, no. Of course not. I'm just supposing a case. You know we have to suppose cases in our psychology cla.s.s. I'm just taking one for the sake of argument."

"Oh," replied Sid sleepily. "If it's only a supposit.i.tious case, all right. I thought you meant you knew of some chap who was doing a dirty trick."

"Well, suppose I did know of one--or you did--what would you do? Would you tell the coach or the captain?"

"What good would it do?"

"That's not the point. Would you?"

"Well, you must have a reason for telling. Don't you learn that in psychology?"

"Of course. Well, my reason might be that I wanted to see the crew do good work and not lose on account of some fellow who couldn't last out a race because he broke training rules on the sly. Or it might be that I wanted to see the fellow himself take a brace."

"Both good reasons, son. Both good. As the Romans say, _Mens sana in corpore sano_. You would do it for his own physical good. Very nice. For his mental improvement also."

"I'm serious," declared Tom.

"So am I, you conscientious old wind-ammer! I know it. The trouble is you're too serious. Why don't you let things slide sometimes?"

"I can't."

"No, I s'pose not. Well, then, fire away, old chap. Wait until I get more comfortable, though," and Sid turned and wiggled on the decrepit sofa until it threatened to collapse.

"You haven't answered my question yet," persisted Tom when his chum had been silent for two minutes.

"What question? Oh, blazes, Tom, I thought you'd gone to sleep. But say, why don't you come right out and say what you mean? Do you know any member of the crew who's doing that?"