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."

"And I'm the coach. I say you shan't pitch any more in this game, or, if you do, I'll resign here and now. Captain Woodhouse, are you with me in this?"

"Oh, well, can't you take a rest for a couple of innings, Fred, and pitch the last one?" asked the captain, adding: "if the Boxers will allow us to suspend the rules for you."

"If I pitch at all, I'll pitch the whole game!" cried Langridge fiercely.

"If you do I resign," was the decision of Mr. Lighton.

"Well, it's up to you," said Woodhouse with a shrug of his shoulders, as if ridding himself of the burden. "Whatever you say goes."

"All right, then I say Langridge goes to the bench. He's not fit to pitch and he knows it."

"What's the matter with me?" demanded the youth haughtily.

"Do you want me to tell?" asked Mr. Lighton quickly, with a sharp look.

Langridge, without a word, walked into the dressing-rooms.

"Parsons will pitch the remainder of the game," went on the coach to the Randall players and he made the necessary announcement to the game officials. "Tom," he called, "come on; you're up in place of Langridge."

Tom Parsons' heart gave a great throb. At last he had the chance for which he had waited so long. He was to pitch in a big game!

Tom was a good batter. He was also acquainted with many pitchers'

tricks, for Mr. Lighton had given him good instruction. Tom was ready for whatever came. The first ball Ogden delivered was an incurve. Tom instinctively stepped back to avoid it, but it went neatly over the plate and a strike was called on him. He shut his teeth hard. He reasoned that Ogden would expect him to be on the lookout the second time for an outcurve, for it might naturally be supposed that the pitcher would vary his delivery.

"But he thinks I'm looking for an out," thought Tom. "Therefore he'll give me another in. I'll be ready for it."

He was. He stepped right into the next ball, which was an incurve, and with a mighty sweep sent it sailing far over the right fielder's head.

It was good for three bases and Tom took them.

"Go on! Keep running! That's a beaut! Take another! Make it a homer!"

yelled the crowd, which was on its feet shouting like mad, waving hats, hands, handkerchiefs and college colors.

"Stay there!" cautioned Coach Lighton, for the ball was being relayed home.

Tom's sensational hit seemed to put new life into the team and Bricktop Molloy also brought in a run. That, however, ended the good work.

Then came Tom's turn in the box. That he was a little nervous was natural, but he kept control of himself and only allowed one hit, though it was good eventually for a run. There was a noticeable stiffening in the work of the team and the coach congratulated Tom as he came in with his chums to take their turn at the bat again.

The seventh inning saw four runs safely laid away for Randall, while the marker put up a neat little ring in the square for Boxer, for Tom struck out two of the three men who were up, one going out on a pop fly, the pitcher having misjudged his batter. Neither side scored in the eighth, and when Randall got three runs in the ninth, and, in spite of strenuous work on the part of Tom, the Boxers got one run that same inning, the score was tied--11 to 11.

"Ten innings! They've got to play ten innings!" went the cry around the field. Then came more cheers. It was a game of games and it began to look as if the hoodoo against Randall was broken and that the college had a chance for the pennant.

"Three cheers for Tom Parsons!" yelled Ford Fenton, and what a shout there was!

"What would your uncle think of him?" asked a student.

"He'd say he was all right!" rejoined Ford good-naturedly.