Batting to Win Part 35

"Oh, we'll do it--somehow," declared Phil.

Matters, as regarded the baseball nine, did not improve much in the next few days, and Tom was filled with gloomy thoughts and dire forebodings.

Though he was on hand at every practice the lads missed his sure arm in the pitching box, though Evert did fairly well. The game with Branchville proved fairly easy, though Randall did not s.h.i.+ne with any unusual brilliancy.

"Hang it all, something's got to be done!" declared Tom on the night after the game. He was nervous and irritated, for his hand pained him, though it was nearly healed, and he was going to pitch in practice on Monday.

"What can be done?" inquired Phil, who was critically examining a new glove he had purchased.

"Sid, we might as well have it out," went on Tom, and he squared his shoulders as if for a fight, as he confronted the deposed second baseman. "Are you or are you not going to play with us again this season? You know we need you. We want you to help us to bat to win. Are you going to do it?"

"Why, it doesn't depend on me," answered Sid, in apparent surprise. "If the doctor says the word I'll jump right in, and do my best. You know that. It's up to the faculty. If they remove the ban----"

"No, it's not up to the faculty!" declared Tom vigorously. "It's up to you, and you know it. It's up to you to save the Randall 'varsity nine!"

"Up to me?" Sid had arisen from his seat near the window, and stood in the middle of the room.

"Up to you," repeated Tom. "You know, as well as I do, that you weren't guilty when Zane caught you with the liquor. You had that for some one else, and you're trying to s.h.i.+eld him. You never use it--you had no use for it, yet you kept still when they accused you, and didn't tell. Now it's time to tell--it's time to say you were innocent--it's time to come out and end this mystery. The team needs you! All you've got to do is to tell the truth, instead of keeping silent, and you know the faculty will exonerate you. Then the ban will be removed, and you can play. That's why I say it's up to you. Isn't it now? Own up, Sid; did you have that liquor for yourself? If you told the truth about it couldn't you get back on the team?"

Tom was fairly panting from the force of his appeal. Sid's face was strangely white, as he turned to look the captain full in the eyes. For a moment he did not reply, and the breathing of the three chums could plainly be heard, for Phil was as much agitated as either of the others.

"Answer me, Sid," pleaded Tom.

"I can't answer everything you ask," spoke Sid, in a low voice. "As I told you before, I gave a promise, and, until I am released from it, I can't speak--my lips are sealed."

"But you didn't have that liquor for yourself," persisted Tom. "Did you, now?"

"I'm not going to answer that," and Sid's hands were gripped on the back of a chair, until his knuckles showed white with the strain.

"Sid Henderson, will you--dare you say that if you told the truth about this miserable business you would not be reinstated and allowed to play?" went on the captain relentlessly. "If you told the whole story, couldn't you get back on the team?"

"I'm not going to tell," said Sid slowly.

"Then you don't want to get back on the team?" fired Tom quickly.

"More than you know--more than you know," was Sid's answer, as he went out of the room.

CHAPTER XXVIII

A FRESHMAN PLOT

Tom stood staring at the door which closed after Sid--staring as if he could not believe what he had heard. He was roused from his reverie by Phil's voice.

"I'm afraid you've only made matters worse, Tom."

"Made 'em worse? They can't be any worse," was the testy reply. "Hang it all! We're about as bad off now as we well can be. I wanted to get Sid back on the team, and--and----"

"There's something we can't get at," declared Phil. "It is something pretty strong, or Sid would never keep quiet and see the college lose."

"Not unless he's altogether different from what he was last term,"

agreed Tom, with a puzzled air. "He once said he hoped he would be able to tell us what his secret was--soon--I only wish the time would come--soon--we need Sid's stick work on the team. I wonder if it has anything to do with a girl--Miss Harrison?"

"She's only one factor in the game. I fancy that was what Sid meant when he said he wanted to get back on the team more than we realized--he meant that it was so Miss Harrison would be friends with him again, for the same thing that caused the disagreement between them, got Sid into trouble with the proctor. And, if what Ruth says is true, Miss Harrison cares a lot for Sid."

"Oh, you can't tell much about girls," retorted Tom, with an air of a youth who was past-master in the art of knowing the feminine mind. "Of course that's not saying that Ruth doesn't mean what she says," he added hastily, for Phil was her brother. "But look at how Miss Harrison went with Langridge."

"Only a couple of times, and I fancy she didn't know his true character.

She gave him his quietus soon enough after the trick he tried to play with the mirror."

"That's so. Well, I wish this tangle would be straightened out somehow.

It's getting on my nerves."

"A baseball 'varsity captain shouldn't have nerves."

"I know it, but I can't help it. h.e.l.lo, some one's coming. Maybe it's Sid."

"No, it's Dutch Housenlager, by his tread," and Phil's guess was right.

"Glad I found somebody in," remarked Dutch, as he was about to throw himself with considerable force on the old sofa. Tom grabbed the catcher, and shunted him off to one side so violently that Dutch sat down on the floor, with a jar that shook the room.

"Here, what's that for?" he demanded, somewhat dazed.

"It was to save our sofa," Tom explained. "You were coming down on it as if you were making a flying tackle. It would have been broken like a half-sawed-through goal post if you had landed. I side-tracked you, that's all."

"Oh," answered Dutch, as he slowly arose. "Next time I wish you'd serve notice on me when you're going to do a thing like that, and I'll wear my football suit," and he rubbed his back gingerly.

"Would you mind translating your remark about being glad you found somebody in?" requested Phil.

"With pleasure, son. I've been to about sixteen different domiciles this evening, and every one was vacant. I've got something to talk about.

Where's Sid?"

"He went out a while ago," answered Tom, uneasily.

"Seems to me you fellows aren't as chummy as you once were," remarked Dutch, taking a seat in the old armchair, after a questioning look at Tom, who nodded a permission.

"Oh, yes, we are," exclaimed Phil quickly. "Isn't it fierce that Sid's off the team."

"Rotten--simply rotten," agreed Dutch. "Just when we need him most. Why didn't you chaps keep him in the straight and narrow path that leads to baseball victories?"

"We tried," came quickly from Phil. "But Sid----"

"Oh, it'll be all right," interrupted Tom. "I think things will straighten themselves out." In his heart he did not believe this, but he did not want Dutch to go away with the idea that there was a cloud hanging over the "inseparables." That would never do. "I have an idea that the faculty will relent at the last minute," went on the captain.

"Especially when they know that the champions.h.i.+p depends on it. Then they'll let Sid play. If they don't we'll get up another pet.i.tion, and make Bascome and his crowd sign, or we'll run 'em out of college."

"Speaking of the freshmen brings me to what I came here for," declared Dutch, and Tom gave a sigh of relief, that their visitor was away from the delicate subject. "What are we going to do to fool the first years, and keep 'em away from our spring dinner?" demanded Dutch. "That's what I called about. The dinner is to be held next week, a few days before our game with Fairview, and, naturally, the fres.h.i.+es will try to break it up."