The Rival Pitchers Part 35

"Oh, I saw you going off with her. I admire your taste, old man, but it must be hard on Langridge."

"It's his own fault."

"So I understand. I heard about it."

"Um," murmured Tom, for he did not want to talk about Miss Tyler and her affairs--at least not yet. There are some things that one likes to ponder over, and think about--all alone.

The game with Fairview was looked forward to with more than ordinary interest, for the season was about half over, and a partial estimate could be made of the chances for the champions.h.i.+p. Up to this time the three teams in the league had been running nearly even, with Randall, if anything, a trifle in the lead, not so much regarding the number of games won, but counting form. In the last two weeks, however, Fairview and Boxer had been doing some hard work, and in games between those colleges Fairview had some the best of it. If, on the occasion that was approaching, Randall won, it would put her nine in the lead, and if, on the contrary, she lost it would mean that she would be the "tail-ender,"

though only a few points behind Boxer, which would be second.

"We've just got to win!" declared Sid, one afternoon, following a severe game with the scrub, who had played the 'varsity to a tie in eleven innings.

"That's right," admitted the coach. "But I think we will. We have improved all around lately."

This was true, more especially in the case of Langridge. Since the affair of the junior dance he had not spoken to Tom, and had taken pains to avoid him. But the 'varsity pitcher was certainly doing better work.

The day before the game with Fairview, Coach Lighton called Tom to one side.

"I think you had better prepare to go as a sub to-morrow," he said.

"Why, is Langridge----" burst out Tom, a wild hope filling his heart.

"No, it isn't our pitcher. But I understand Sid is falling back in his Latin, and he may not be allowed to play. In that case I'll have to do some s.h.i.+fting, and I _may_ be able to give you a place in the field."

"Well, I don't want to see Sid left, but I would like a chance."

Tom was in rather a quandary. He had arranged to take Miss Tyler, and he could not, if he went with the team as a sub. He hardly knew what to do about it, and was on the point of going over to see her, and explain, when Sid came bursting into the room.

"Blood! blood! I want blood!" he cried as he threw his Latin grammar against the wall with such force that the covers came off.

"What ho! most worthy knight!" replied Tom gently. "In sooth, gentle sir, what hath befallen thee?"

"Heaps!" replied Sid. "Oh, Pitchfork, would I had thee here!" and he wadded up the table cover, and pretended to choke it.

"What now?" asked Tom.

"Oh, he put me through a course of sprouts for further orders this afternoon," explained Sid. "Thought he'd catch me, but I managed to wiggle through. Nearly gave me heart disease, though, for fear I'd have to be out of the game to-morrow. But I managed to save myself, much to the surprise of Pitchfork. Now I want my revenge on him."

"What can you do?"

"I don't know--nothing, I guess. I wish--hold on!" Sid struck a thoughtful att.i.tude, looked fixedly at the floor, then at the ceiling, and finally cried: "Eureka!"

"Has some one been playing hob with your crown?" asked Tom, referring to the exclamation said to have been made by the ancient king, when he discovered, in his bath, a means of finding out if his jeweler had cheated him.

"No, but I've found a way to get even with Pitchfork."

"How?"

"Listen, and I will a tale unfold--a spike-tail at that. When I was coming in from recitation, disgusted with life in general, and with the Roman view of it, particularly, I met Wallops the messenger. He had a bundle under his arm, and you know what a talker he is. Confided to me that he was taking Pitchfork's best suit to the tailor's to be pressed, and his dress-suit to have new b.u.t.tons put on, and some other fixings done. Pitchfork is going to a swell reception to-night, and will wear his glad rags. All he has now is his cla.s.sroom suit, and you know what that is--all chalk and chemical stains when he goes into the laboratory once in a while on the relief s.h.i.+ft."

"I don't seem to follow you."

"You will soon. See, as it stands now Pitchfork is without a decent suit he can wear, and he's such a peculiar build that no other professor's garments will fit him."

"Well?"

"Well, when he wants his dress-suit to go to the blow-out to-night, he's going to learn something new."

"What's that?"

"Just this. That dress-suits come high this time of the year! It's going to be the best joke yet. Now, ladies and gentlemen, with your kind permission and attention I will endeavor to give you a correct imitation of Professor Pitchfork hunting high and low for his glad rags--particularly high. I will roll back my cuffs, to show you that I have nothing concealed up my sleeves. Now, commodore, a little slow music, please," and Sid, who had a.s.sumed the role of a vaudeville performer, pretended to nod to an imaginary leader of an orchestra.

CHAPTER XXV

TOM IN A GAME

"Want any help?" asked Tom, when Sid had outlined his scheme of "revenge."

"No, I guess not, until I get ready to pull the strings. Then you can give me a hand. We'll have to do it after dark, and be mighty careful not to be caught, though."

"But how are you going to get the suit?"

"I have a plan. Watch your Uncle Dudley."

Sid spent the rest of the afternoon in making up a bundle to look like one that contained two suits just from the tailor shop. Only, in place of clothes he used old newspapers. It was toward dusk when he went out with it under his arm.

"It's about time Wallops was coming back," he said to Tom. "I'll meet him in the clump of elms, where it's good and dark, and he can't tell who I am."

"Be careful," warned his roommate.

"Sure. But I know what I'm about. Revenge is sweet! Wow! Wait until you see the face of Pitchfork!"

Sid stole carefully along to a spot near the edge of the river, where a clump of big elm trees grew. This was near the bridge on the road to Haddonfield. The spot was lonely and deserted enough at this hour to suit his purpose, and the dusk of the evening, being added to by clouds, and by the shadows of the trees, made concealment easy.

"I guess that's Wallops," murmured Sid as he peered out from behind a tree. "That walks like Wallops, and he's got a bundle under his arm. Now for a grand transformation scene."

Awaiting the psychological moment, Sid hurried out, and b.u.mped into the college messenger. Wallops' bundle was knocked from under his arm, and, by a strange coincidence, so was Sid's.

"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed the student in an a.s.sumed voice. "Awfully careless of me, I'm sure. I beg a thousand pardons! I was in a hurry, and I didn't notice you. Is this the road to Haddonfield?"

"That's all right," replied Wallops good naturedly as his pardon was begged again. "Yes, keep straight on, and you'll come to the trolley that runs to Haddonfield."

"Let me restore your bundle to you," went on Sid, picking up both parcels.