The Rival Pitchers/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI
AN ELECTRIC SHOCK
Late that same afternoon Tom, having gone to town alone, that he might accomplish his mission unobserved, came back with a coil of telegraph wire concealed under his sweater at his waist. He smuggled it to Langridge's room without being seen.
"That's the stuff, old man," cried Langridge heartily, but there was an air of patronizing superiority in his manner that Tom did not like. Still, he reasoned, the other could not rid himself of an inborn habit so easily, and it really seemed, in spite of the fact that Tom might be regarded as a rival of Langridge, that the latter was doing his best to be friendly.
"I s'pose it wouldn't do to ask what's up, would it?" inquired Tom as he was about to leave.
"Hardly," replied Langridge with what he meant to be a genial smile. "It might get out, you know. But you can be in at the death, so to speak. The whole freshman class will assemble at the boathouse about nine. There'll be a full moon and we can have a good view of the sophs' pavilion."
"Are they going to be there?"
"I hope so. In fact I'm counting on it. This is the night of their annual moonlight song festival. They gather in and about the pavilion and make the night hideous with snatches of melody. They're rotten singers—the sophs this year—but that is neither here nor there. The point is that they'll be there, and it's up to us freshmen to give 'em a little surprise party."
"I suppose you're going to arrange the wire so they can't get into the pavilion without cutting it," suggested Tom, "or else put it across the path to trip them up."
"Er—yes—something like that," replied Langridge hastily. "Oh, by the way, have you a knife? I lost mine out rowing the other day. I'll give it back to you to-morrow."
Tom passed over his knife, a good-sized one, with his name engraved on the handle. His father had given it to him.
"Don't lose it," he cautioned. "I think a great deal of it."
"I'll not," promised Langridge. "Now don't forget to be on hand."
"I'll be there to see the fun."
"And maybe you'll see more than you bargain for," whispered Langridge as Tom went out. There was a curious look on the face of the 'varsity pitcher.
One by one, by twos and threes or in small groups, silent figures stole away from dormitories that night and gathered about the pavilion or the boathouse, which was not far from it. To the first place went the sophomores, bent on having their annual frolic of song. To the second rendezvous traveled the freshmen, but they went more silently, for they did not want their natural enemies to learn of their presence.
The sophomores, however, were on their guard. From time immemorial it had been the custom for the first-year class to endeavor to break up the song fest of their predecessors, and it was the function of the first years to do this in as novel a manner as possible.
Tradition had it that various methods had been used, such as setting fire to the pavilion, digging pits in the paths that led to it and covering the holes with leaves and grass, laying a line of hose to the place, so that at an opportune moment the singers would be drenched and routed. The latter was a favorite plan and most successful.
But to-night a more strict guard than usual had been kept over the battle-scarred pavilion. All that day a committee had been on the watch so that it was thought impossible that any hose could be used or any pits dug.
Now the sophomores were beginning to gather in and around the small shelter. They were jubilant, for they began to think they had outwitted their never-ceasing enemies.
Meanwhile the freshmen were not idle. In large numbers they had quietly gathered at the boathouse, in the dark shadows of which they remained in hiding, waiting for the opening of the singing and the consequent breaking up of the sophomore body.
"What's the game?" asked Sid of Tom as those two and Phil Clinton made their way to the rendezvous. "Water pipes, fire or something brand new?"
"You can search me," was Tom's non-committal answer. "I hope it's something new. There doesn't seem to be any provisions for a bonfire and none of us swiped the fire hose."
"Langridge and his committee have it in charge," said Phil. 'There's some secrecy about it, and very properly, too. Last year, I understand, it leaked out and the fun was spoiled."
Tom did not reply, but he wondered what use Langridge was going to make of the wire.
"They ought to start soon now," whispered Phil. "There's a good crowd of them there."
"Yes, and they've got scouts out all around," added Sid as he and his chums saw a number of shadowy figures patroling the stretch around the pavilion. "They're not going to be caught unawares."
"I don't see how we're going to break 'em up," remarked Phil.
"You wait and you'll see," exclaimed Langridge, who was moving about among the freshmen. "Say, Ed, you'd better go now and light the fuse."
"Is it an explosion?" asked Sid eagerly.
"Better be careful," cautioned Phil.
Tom's heart was thumping. He began to see the use to which the wire might be put, and he was afraid lest he had taken part in some dangerous prank. If Langridge had planned to explode a mine under the pavilion, some one might be injured.
"There'll be no explosion, only an explosion of wrath pretty soon," replied Langridge. "Go ahead, Kerr. Let 'em sing one song and they'll think we've called it off. Then let it go."
Kerr hurried off, keeping in the shadows. No sooner had he started than a movement was noticeable among the sophomores, groups of whom could easily be seen now, as the moon was well up.
Then, on the stillness of the night, there broke a song. It was an old melody, sacred to Randall, and, in spite of being rendered by hilarious students, it was well done.
"That's not half bad," commented Phil. "They've got some good members for the glee club there."
"It's punk!" sneered Langridge. "Wait until we have a song fest. We'll make them feel sick!"
The melody continued, and coming as it did from the distance, while all about was the wondrous beauty of the moon, the effect produced on Tom Parsons was one of distinct pleasure. It was like being at some play.
"What a pity," he thought, "to spoil it all! What brutes we college fellows are—sometimes. I like to listen to that."
The song was softer now, and then it broke forth into a full chorus, well rendered.
"It's a shame to break it up," reasoned Tom. Then a class feeling overcame him. After all, the sophomores were their traditional enemies, and college tradition demanded that they disperse the gathering.
"Kerr ought to be there now," whispered Langridge. "The fuse will burn for two minutes."
"Fuse—fuse," repeated Phil. "It must be an explosion. You want to be careful, Langridge."
"Oh, I know what I'm doing," was the answer. "But mind now, no squealing, whatever happens."
"You needn't say that," was Phil's quick retort. "We're Randall College freshmen,'* as if that was all that was necessary.
Kerr glided in from somewhere.
"Well?" asked Langridge.
"It's all right."
The sophomores had started another song. They were about through the second verse when there came a series of sudden yells from the pavilion. There were cries of pain, and Langridge, in the midst of the freshmen, called out:
"That's it! That's the stuff! Rah! rah! sophs! This time we break you up. Cheer, boys, cheer!"
The freshmen set up an exultant cry as it became evident that, in some way, the gleeful singing of the second-year lads had been stopped. There was an excited movement in the pavilion, yet the waiting freshmen could not see that anything had taken place.
Then came a cry—two exclamations—louder and more anguished than any that had preceded. There was a yell—a protesting yell—and then some one in the pavilion shouted:
"Cut it, fellows! The hand railing is charged with electricity!"
"Three cheers for the freshmen!"' called Langridge, and the response came spontaneously, for his mates knew that they had triumphed over the sophomores.
Suddenly above the confused cheering and shouting there came another cry.
"Help me, fellows! Oh, help—help!" screamed some one inside the pavilion.
There was a confused movement among the singers. Something seemed to have happened—something serious. The freshmen stopped their cheering and crowded up. A big sophomore broke through the throng and dashed toward the college.
"What's the matter?" called Tom, and he had an uneasy feeling as he asked the question.
"Matter? It's you confounded freshmen, that's what's the matter! Gladdus and Battersby have been knocked unconscious."
"Unconscious?"
"Yes, by a powerful current of electricity. Get out of my way, fresh, or I'll knock you down! I'm going for a doctor. Some of you had better notify the proctor," he added to a few of his classmates who followed him on the run. "This is serious business."
"Come on, fellows," advised Langridge. "It's all right. We broke up the pavilion meeting all right."
"But maybe some one is seriously hurt," said Sid.
"Nonsense, it was only a current from the incandescent light lamps. It couldn't hurt them. Come on, take a sneak away from here. We've had our fun. And mind, everybody keep his mouth shut," and Langridge disappeared in the shadows of the trees, while ahead of him panted several sophomores on their way to summon a physician.