Batting to Win Part 32

"Mr. Bascome has the floor," the chairman announced. "Do I understand that you ask that as a point of information?" and Tom gazed at the wealthy freshman, who, through all the tumult, had maintained his place, sneeringly indifferent to the threats made against him.

"That's what I want to know," he stated.

"I'll let the entire college answer that if necessary," declared Tom.

"Mr. Bascome has asked a question----"

"Don't answer him!" yelled Dutch.

Bang! went the gavel. From his corner where he had been seated, doing some figuring, Ed Kerr arose--his face white.

"Mr. Chairman! A question of personal privilege!" he cried.

"Go on!" answered Tom, forgetting his parliamentary language.

"I beg to tender my resignation as manager of the Randall baseball nine!" cried Ed.

"No! No!"

"We won't take it!"

"Make him sit down!"

"Don't listen to him!"

"Let's haze Bascome!"

"Fellows, will you be quiet?" begged Tom. "I won't recognize anyone until you're quiet!" and he banged away.

Gradually there came a hush, while both Bascome and Kerr remained on their feet.

"There is a question before the house," went on the captain, "and until that is settled I can't listen to anything else. Mr. Bascome wants to know whether the present financial trouble of the nine is not due to the manager. How do you answer him?"

"No! No! No!" came in a great chorus.

Tom turned to Ed Kerr.

"Are there any who think otherwise?" asked the chairman.

"Yes," called Bascome, and he was supported by half a dozen, including Ford Fenton. There were groans of protest, but Tom silenced them.

"I think Mr. Bascome has his answer," declared the chairman. "You have an almost overwhelming vote of confidence, Mr. Manager, and I congratulate you. Is there any further business to come before the meeting. Oh, yes, I almost forgot. How are you making out, Mr.

Treasurer?"

"Fine!" cried Snowden. "All we need and more, too."

"Good! Then the meeting is adjourned. We don't need any motion," and Tom started to leave the little platform.

"Look here!" bl.u.s.tered Bert Bascome, "I'm a member of the athletic committee, and you can't carry things in this high-handed manner. I move that we go into executive session and consider the election of a new manager. Mr. Kerr has resigned, as I understand it."

"Forget it!" advised Dutch Housenlager, and he stretched out his foot, and skillfully tripped up the noisy objector, who went down in a heap, with Ford Fenton on top of him.

"Here! Quit! I'll have you expelled for that!" spluttered Bascome, rising and making a rush for Dutch. But he was surrounded by a ma.s.s of students, who laughed and joked with him, shoving him from side to side until he was so mauled and hauled and mistreated that he was glad to make his escape.

"Little rat!" muttered Holly Cross, as he saw Bascome and Ford going off together. "That's all they're good for--to make trouble."

"Yes," agreed Tom, "Bascome's been sore ever since he couldn't have his way about electing Ford Fenton manager. But I guess we're out of the woods now. Get in good shape for the Richfield game Sat.u.r.day, fellows."

The crowd rushed from the gymnasium, laughing and shouting, and refusing to listen to Kerr, who still talked of resigning, though he was finally shown that the objection to him amounted to nothing. It was still light enough for some practice, and most of the lads headed for the diamond.

Tom, Phil and Sid walked along together. As they pa.s.sed under the side window of the East Dormitory, where the freshmen and seniors roomed, Phil spied, hanging from a cas.e.m.e.nt, a tall, silk hat.

"Get on to the tile!" he cried. "Some blooming freshman must have hung it there to air, ready for a s.h.i.+ndig to-night. Bet you can't hit it, Tom. Two out of three. If you do I'll stand for sodas for the bunch."

"It's a go!" agreed the pitcher.

"Here's a ball," remarked Sid, handing Tom one. "Let's see what you can do."

Tom fingered the horsehide, glanced critically at the hat, which hung on a stick out of the window, and then drew back his arm.

"Here goes!" he cried, and, an instant later the ball was whizzing through the air. Straight as the proverbial arrow it went, and so skillfully had Tom thrown, that the spheroid went right into the hat--and, came out on the other side, through the top of the crown, making a disastrous rent. Then ball and hat came to the ground together.

"Fine shot!" cried Phil admiringly.

"That hat won't do duty to-night," observed Sid. "You knocked the top clean out, Tom," and he ran forward to pick it up. As he did so he was aware of an indignant figure coming from the dormitory. So, in fact, were Phil and Tom. A moment later, as Sid held the ruined silk hat in his hands, Professor Emerson Tines confronted the lads.

"May I ask what you young gentlemen are doing with my hat?" he asked in frigid tones.

"Your--your hat?" stammered Tom.

"My hat," repeated the stern teacher. "I was a witness to your act of vandalism. You may come with me to Dr. Churchill at once!"

CHAPTER XXV

A PEt.i.tION

Phil, Tom and Sid stood staring blankly at one another. Sid still held the broken hat, until Professor Tines came up and took it from him.

"Ruined, utterly ruined!" murmured the teacher. "My best hat!"

"We--I--that is I--didn't know it was your hat," stammered Tom. "I threw the ball through it."

"You didn't know it was my hat?" asked Professor Tines, as if such ignorance was inexcusable. "Whose did you suppose it was, pray?"

"Some galoot's--I mean some freshman's," stammered Phil. "You see, it was hanging from a window in the freshmen's dormitory, and----"

"It was not hanging from the window of any student in the first year cla.s.s," declared the instructor pompously. "I had sent my silk hat to one of the janitors, who makes a practice of ironing them. He had finished it, and hung it out to air, when you--you vandals came along.