Shouldn't wonder but what he'd give Langridge a rub for pitcher, if he plays baseball."
"Oh, he'll play, all right. A fellow who can throw as he did can't help playing."
"Who's that?" asked Sid in a breathing spell, following a temporary repulse of the enemy.
"The new lad—Tom Parsons."
"Oh, yes, he plays ball," said Sid. "His father knows my father. They used to be chums in Northville, a country town. That's how Tom happened to come here, and he asked if he couldn't room with me. He plays ball, all right."
"Pitch?" asked Clinton laconically.
"I think so. Look out, here they come again!"
The conversation was interrupted to repel another rush.
"Look out below!" suddenly called the Snail from his perch near the cupola.
"Got the clapper?" yelled Langridge.
"Yep! Here it is!"
Something fell with a thud in the midst of a group of freshmen. It was the bell clapper, which the Snail had unhooked. Tom Parsons made a dive for it.
"I'll take that!" exclaimed Langridge roughly, as he shoved the newcomer to one side and grabbed up the mass of iron.
"I was only going to help," replied Tom good-naturedly.
