Batting to Win Part 17

Then the fielder woke up, and threw to second, hoping to catch out Holly, who was somewhat undecided. But Sid kept on to home, and tallied the run, though he almost collapsed a moment later, while Holly leaped on to third.

"Hurt bad?" asked Tom, as he and several others hurried up to Sid.

"I should say so," remarked Mr. Leighton, as he saw the blood running from Sid's shoe.

Meanwhile Holly had reached third, though the decision was close. He died there, for the next man struck out, retiring the side, and making the score five to four, in favor of Randall, though with Wescott still to have a chance in the ending of the ninth.

The third baseman made all sorts of apologies to Sid, who indeed had a nasty cut, for a spike had gone through the outer, fleshy part of his foot. It was so evidently an accident, however, that nothing unpleasant was said, though Sid could not play, and had to be replaced by Pete Backus.

There was a grim look on Tom's face as he took his place in the box, and it was justified, for he struck out two men. The third knocked what seemed was going to be a nice hit, but Pete Backus caught it, though he had to jump well for it, a feat for which his training stood him well in hand.

"Wow! We've done 'em!" cried Tom, when he realized that the third Wescott man was out, without a run having been scored by their rivals in the last inning.

"We sure have," agreed Mr. Leighton. "Poor Sid, though. He'll be out of it for a few days."

"I don't care, as long as we won the game," spoke the plucky lad, as he limped along, his foot having been dressed, and peroxide applied, to prevent blood poisoning.

"It was a glorious victory," sang Holly Cross, the others joining in, after cheers had been given for Wescott, and returned by those fine-spirited lads.

It was a jolly crowd that journeyed back to Randall next day, with the Wescott scalps hanging at their belts.

"It was just what Sid wanted," decided Tom to Phil as he noted the lively look on the second baseman's face, for he was jolly and laughing, in spite of the pain of his injured foot.

There was a great celebration in Randall when the victorious team marched up the campus that night, and bonfires galore glared all around.

"A feast to-night," decided a crowd of the team's most enthusiastic supporters. "Sid Henderson will be toastmaster, on account of his great work."

But Sid, who had limped to his room to change his clothes, shook his head.

"Why not?" asked Tom and Phil in surprise.

"Because I--I've got to go away to-night," and Sid tried to conceal a letter in his hand--a letter which he had found awaiting him when he returned from Wescott with his chums.

CHAPTER XI

A JOKE ON THE PROCTOR

For a moment neither Tom nor Phil answered. There was an embarra.s.sed silence, but it only affected the three chums, for all about them was a rollicking, shouting crowd of students intent on arranging for a celebration in honor of the nine, and Sid--the player who had done so much to help win.

"Have you _got_ to go?" asked Tom, in a low voice. "Can't you put it off, Sid?"

"I've got to go. I can't put it off," was the reply, as Sid turned and limped away.

"Oh, I say! Where's he going?" demanded Snail Looper. "We want to form a procession and carry him."

"Oh, he'll be back--later," answered Phil, for both he and Tom wished to conceal, as long as possible, the growing mystery that seemed to be enveloping their chum.

There was no time for longer talk with Sid, as he had hurried off as fast as his injured foot would let him, though Mr. Leighton had advised him to stay in his room for a couple of days.

"Where do you s'pose he's going?" asked Tom of Phil.

"Give it up, unless he's going to call on Miss Harrison, and it doesn't seem very likely. He'd be more cheerful if it was that. As it is he acts as if he was going to a funeral."

"That's right. He got another one of those queer letters, and, as usual, when he does, he scoots off somewhere. Do you know what I think?"

"You think of so many things, Tom, I can't be sure."

"No joking. I mean we ought to follow him, and see where he goes so mysteriously. Maybe we could help him."

"Oh, we couldn't do that, but I'd do anything else to help Sid."

"No, of course it wouldn't be fair to play the spy; but, just the same, I wish I knew what was worrying him."

A moment later the two players were caught up in a rush of enthusiastic students that involved the whole nine except Sid, and were carried off to an impromptu celebration. Bonfires were blazing, and hastily-organized banquets were in order.

"Why, you'd think we'd won the champions.h.i.+p to see the way they take on," remarked Holly Cross.

"Well, we're in line for it, after the way we beat Wescott," said Tom.

"It's the best nine Randall has had in many a year, if I do say it myself," and Tom looked proudly on his team.

"My uncle says----" began a voice.

"Smother him!"

"Into the lake with him!"

"Make him eat soft soap!"

"Choke him with a double ice-cream cone!"

These cries, and many more, greeted the almost fatal announcement of Ford Fenton. Much abashed, he turned aside from the crowd into which he had made his way.

"I wouldn't stand for that, if I were you," remarked Bert Bascome to him. "Why don't you go back at 'em."

"Oh, I don't know," replied Ford hesitatingly.

"You'd have been manager of the team if some of the mollycoddles around here had had any s.p.u.n.k," went on the sporty freshman. "I'm not done yet, either. I'll make the team wish, before the season is over, that Ed Kerr hadn't been manager."

"You'll not do anything rash, will you?" asked Ford, who was somewhat afraid of his wealthy chum, who proposed daring pranks sometimes.

"I don't know," answered Bascome with a superior air. "If I had some one to help me I know what I'd do. Come over here, I want to talk to you," and he led Ford off to where a number of freshmen of Bascome's crowd were looking on at the celebration in honor of the nine, but taking no part. Tom saw Ford going off with Bascome, the enthusiastic welcome of the players having calmed down for a moment.

"I don't like that," he observed to Phil. "Bascome is a chap likely to get Ford into trouble. There's a fast set in the fres.h.i.+e crowd this year."