walked with a prouder step that day, for once more, after many seasons, the bird of victory had come back to hover over the college on the river and the championship banner would float from the flagstaff on the campus.

Tom and his chums dispersed to dress. A crowd surrounded the victorious pitcher.

"Let me congratulate you, Parsons," said Dr. Churchill, making his way through the throng. "You have brought honor to the college," and he shook Tom's hand heartily.

"The rest of them did as much as I," replied Tom modestly. "If it hadn't been for Clinton's run, I'm afraid we'd have lost after all."

"You get out!" cried Phil.

"May I also congratulate you?" asked a voice at Tom's elbow, and he turned to see Miss Tyler. His face, which was pale from pain, flushed, and as she held out her hand he hesitated, for his was all stained from the dirt of the ball, while hers was daintily gloved.

"As if I minded that!" she cried as she saw him hesitate, and she took his hand in both hers, to the no small damage of the new gloves.

"I knew you'd do it," she said, while she smiled happily. "Oh, Tom, I'm so glad!"

"So am I," he answered, and after that the pain in his arm did not seem so bad.

What a triumphant procession it was that wended its way toward Randall that afternoon! How song followed song and cheer was piled upon cheer!

Tom sat in the corner of a big auto, with Miss Tyler at his side. He had to put his arm in a sling and he was overwhelmed with questions as to how he felt, while the number of sweaters offered him as cushions would have stocked a furnishing store.

"Oh, boy, but you're a daisy!" exclaimed Sid a few hours later when he and Tom, after a good bath, were resting in their room.

"As if you didn't cover first base as it never has been covered before,"

declared Tom.

"Oh, well, that was easy for me after I pa.s.sed that Latin exam. But you and your arm--I don't see how you did it."

"And don't forget Phil Clinton. That was one of the greatest runs and catches I ever saw."

"Oh, yes, it certainly was great. But did you hear the news? Phil isn't going to play any more, at least for the present."

"Why not?"

"He is going into training for our football eleven this fall. Some of the older heads think he'll make a great player."

"I've no doubt he will," said Tom. "He's built for it." And what Tom said was true, as we shall learn in our next tale, to be called "A Quarter-back's Pluck." In that story we shall meet Tom and Sid and all the boys of Randall College again and also Miss Madge Tyler, and learn the particulars of several fiercely contested games on the gridiron.

"No, sir, I don't really see how you did it," repeated Sid, "with such a sore arm as that."

"I don't see, either," answered Tom, but he knew that the memory of a certain girl had done as much to keep him up as had his desire to make his team win.

Some one knocked at the door.

"More congratulatory calls," said Sid as he went to open it.

"May I come in?" asked a voice, and Langridge stood in the corridor. Tom arose from the couch where he was lying.

"Come on in," he said quietly.

"I--I just want to congratulate you, dominie," he said, and he smiled a little, but there was a curious note in his voice. "You did magnificent work. I could never have equaled it in a thousand years. Will you shake hands?"

Sid wondered at the queer air of restraint about Langridge, but Tom understood, and there was heartiness and forgiveness in the grip that followed.

"I've resigned as manager," went on Langridge. "I--I hope they'll elect you, dominie. We won't be rivals any more."

"Are you going to leave college?" asked Sid curiously.

"No. I'm going to give up athletics for a while, though, and become a grind. I've been beaten two ways lately," he went on. "Parsons is a better pitcher than I am, and--and----" but he did not finish, though Tom knew he referred to Miss Tyler. Then Langridge went out and Sid and Tom played the game all over again in talk.

Suddenly there was a shout out on the campus. Tom looked from the window.

"What is it?" asked Sid.

"They're getting ready for the procession and the bonfires along the river. Come on."

The two chums rushed downstairs, Phil Clinton joining them on the way.

Out on the green was a throng of students, every one in the college.

"Three cheers for Tom Parsons, the best pitcher that ever tossed a ball!" called some one.

How the yells resounded again and again, with innumerable tigers and other wild and ferocious beasts added!

"Fall in! fall in! Down to the fires along the river!" commanded Captain Woodhouse. "Oh, but this is a great day!"

"That's what," added Ford Fenton. "My uncle says----"

But his voice was drowned in the shout that followed, and then came that inspiring song, "_Aut vincere aut mori_."

And many fires of victory blazed along Sunny River that night.

THE END