The Rival Pitchers/Chapter 19
CHAPTER XIX
TOM IN COLD WATER
Langridge at the first effort sent out a hot liner, which flew just over the pitcher's head. The second baseman made a jump for it and the ball began to roll along in front of the center fielder. Amid a wild burst of yells Langridge raced for first and got there safely, not daring to go on to second, as Ogden had run down to help cover it.
"That's the stuff! that's the stuff! That's the way to line 'em out!" chanted an excited voice, and Tom looked around to see the two silk-hatted "old grads" embracing each other and doing an impromptu dance in their seats.
"Aren't they jolly!" exclaimed Miss Tyler.
"Very, but they're crowing too soon. The game has only just begun. Boxer Hall will play strong."
And Tom's prediction came true, for in spite of the auspicious opening by Langridge, not a man crossed home plate for the Randalls that inning, the pitcher dying on third. Then it came the turn of the home team to show what they could do in holding down the visitors. It looked as if they were going to do it, too, for Langridge struck out the first two men. But he gave the next one a pass to first and was batted for a two-bagger by the following player, the inning ending with one run for Boxer. The Randall College boys and their girl supporters began to look anxious and so did some of the "old grads." On the other side there was laughter, cheers and jollity, while some of the aged former students of Boxer began to chant old-time college songs.
"Oh, I do hope our fellows win," exclaimed Miss Tyler, and there was an anxious look on her pretty face, while she tapped her flag of colors impatiently against her little foot.
"Have you a bet on the game ?" asked Tom. "A box of candy or some gloves?"
"No, but I want to see Randall win. Besides, Fred—I mean Mr. Langridge—he told me he was going to work hard for success, and I never like to see any one disappointed—do you?"
"No," said Tom rather shortly. He really did not care to hear his rival's praises sung by this fair damsel.
"Do you know," she went on, "I've been thinking of what you started to tell me about him the other day. Is it really true?"
"Well," began Tom slowly, "if you will excuse the privilege of a friend who has known you for some time, I would say that I don't believe your people would like you to go with him."
"Why, mamma knows his uncle, who is his guardian, and she says he is very nice—I mean the uncle," and she laughed a little.
"I have no doubt of it. I only"
But Tom did not say what he was going to, for just then Pinky Davenport, captain of the Boxers, knocked what Holly Cross described later as a "lalapoolassa" fly, which went clear over the center fielder's head and netted a home run for the captain of the visitors.
What yelling and shouting there was then! It seemed to put new life into the opponents of Randall, if such was needed, for they began piling up the score until they were six runs in the lead.
Then Randall "took a brace," encouraged by the yells of the "old grads" and others, and by the eighth inning had cut it down even. In the close of the eighth they held their opponents down to one run, making it necessary to gather in two to win the game, but with that it meant holding the visitors hitless in the last half of the final inning.
The first part of the program was carried out all right. By some phenomenal playing Randall managed to get the lead by one run. They would have had another but for a miscalculation on the part of Ed Kerr, who was caught napping between third and home, where he was run down and put out.
"Now, fellows, we have them on the hip!" exclaimed Captain Woodhouse as he called his players together for a little talk before the final struggle was made. "If we can hold them down this inning we have them. Langridge, it's up to you!"
"I know it. But don't worry, I'll do it."
It sounded well, and there was a determined look in the pitcher's face, but his eyes were unnaturally bright. His pitching had been ragged during the last three innings and the sudden decline of the abilities of the Boxer players had done as much as anything to give Randall her chance.
"Oh, I hope Fred strikes three out, one right after the other!" exclaimed Miss Tyler as she shifted nervously in her seat. "He must be under a dreadful strain."
"Probably he is," said Tom. "But if he takes a brace now he'll be all right."
"He's been taking too many bracers—that's what's the matter with him," said a voice back of Tom, and he knew it was one of the former graduates speaking. Tom looked at the girl beside him. Either she had not heard or she took no notice of the remark.
It was a tense moment when Langridge sent in the first ball. It was called a strike and the batsman looked surprised. The next was a ball, but two more strikes were called without the player getting a chance to swing at the horsehide. Langridge smiled at the cheers which greeted him. Then he did what few other pitchers could have done under the circumstances. He struck out the next two men, though one did manage to hit a high foul, which Kerr missed. Langridge had saved the game by holding the other team hitless.
Such a cheer as went up then when it was seen that Randall had won! The stamping of feet on the stands sounded like thunder. Back of Tom and Miss Tyler two old men began yelling like Indians, hugging each other and whirling about. They were the two "old grads" of '73. They were waving their hats in the air and yelling "Randall! Randall! Randall!" until their faces were the color of raw beef.
"Wow!" cried the taller of the two. "This does my heart good! I'm forty years young again. Wow! Whoop-la!"
Suddenly he drew back his hand and his silk hat went sailing over the edge of the grandstand to the grass of the outfield. It was caught by some Randall players and quickly kicked out of shape.
"Why, that was a new hat!" exclaimed the man's companion.
"I know it, but there's more where that came from. I can buy a new hat every day, but I can't see my old college win such a game as this. Wow! Whoop!"
"That's right. I'm with you," and a second hat went the way of the first, while the old men capered about like boys. They were given a round of cheers on their own account by the team when the players understood what had happened. Ford Fenton was running about, all excited, trying to find his relative.
"Have you seen my uncle?" he asked several.
"No!" cried Holly Cross. "And if I do, I'll shoot him on sight! Get out or I'll eat you up," and with a roar of simulated wrath he rushed at poor Fenton, who beat a hasty retreat.
Tom was jubilant at the success of his college, nor did he withhold unstinted praise for Langridge. He had been surprised at the sudden improvement shown. Tom and Miss Tyler walked across the grounds toward the campus, the girl looking back several times. Suddenly Langridge appeared from amid a group of players.
"I'll be with you in a minute," he called to Miss Tyler, "as soon as I change my duds. Wait for me."
There was an air of proprietorship in the words and the girl must have felt them, for she turned away without speaking.
"Perhaps I'd better say good-afternoon," spoke Tom, a trifle piqued.
"Not unless you want to," she replied with a quick look at him.
"Of course I don't want to, but I thought"
"Don't bother to think," she added with a little laugh. "It's tiresome. Come and show me the river. Not that I haven't seen it before, but it's so beautiful to-day, I want some one to enjoy it with me."
"How would you like to go for a little row?" asked Tom. "I can get a boat and we'll go to Crest Island."
"That will be lovely. The water is like glass."
They were soon afloat. Tom was a good oarsman and sent the light craft ahead with powerful strokes. They spent some little time on the island, where other pleasure seekers were, and when the shadows began to lengthen started back.
"I've enjoyed it ever so much," said Miss Tyler gratefully as the craft neared the float adjoining the college boathouse.
"That's good," said Tom heartily. "Perhaps you will go again."
"I probably shall if any one asks me," she replied archly, and then he helped her out, whispering as he did so, for there were quite a number on the float, "I'll be sure to ask you, Madge." Tom may have imagined it, but he thought there was just a little return of the pressure when he pressed the hand he held.
"Well, I thought you were going to wait for me," exclaimed a voice, and Langridge pushed his way through the throng and came close to where Miss Tyler was standing, waiting for Tom to tie the boat.
"I didn't say so," she answered.
"But you—you" Langridge did not know what to say.
"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me now," said the girl calmly, though she smiled at Langridge in no unfriendly fashion.
"Come and take a walk," he almost ordered. "I want to say something to you."
Before she could answer Tom was at her side. He looked keenly at Langridge and was about to make some reply when the 'varsity pitcher reached out as though to link his arm in that of the girl. Miss Tyler drew back and Langridge edged himself forward. He may have been merely eager or it may have been the result of intention. At any rate, he jostled Tom to one side and the next minute the pitcher of the scrub, vainly endeavoring to retain his balance, toppled into the cold water of the river.