THE FRESHMAN DINNER
They wanted Tom to ride back to the college with the team and the
substitutes, but he would not leave Miss Tyler, and, though he was torn
between two desires, he went back to the girl.
Moreover, he had an idea that it would not be altogether pleasant riding
in the same stage with Langridge, who, he had heard whispered, made
strenuous objection when Coach Lighton ordered him to give place to Tom.
"He'll be down on me more than ever," thought Tom as he made his way
back to the grandstand, which was rapidly emptying. "Well, I can't help
it."
"Your arm must be much better," remarked Miss Tyler as Tom came up to
her. "You pitched finely."
"Well, I've had plenty of practice," was his answer. "I fancy Langridge
was tired out," he added generously. "It's no fun to pitch a losing
game."
"But you did."
"Oh, well, it was my first chance on the 'varsity, and I would have
welcomed it if the score had been a hundred to nothing."
"Will you pitch regularly now?"
"I don't know. I hope----"
But Tom stopped. He had almost forgotten that Miss Tyler was very
friendly to Langridge, in spite of the little scene at the dance.
For two days after the disastrous game with Fairview Langridge sulked in
his room and would not report for practice. He talked somewhat wildly
about Tom, the latter heard, and practically accused him of being
responsible for his disgrace. He even said Tom was intriguing against
him to win away his friends; meaning Kerr especially, for the 'varsity
catcher announced that he was done with Langridge as far as sociability
was concerned. But Kerr, hearing this, came to Tom's defense, and stated
openly that it was Langridge himself who was to blame.
Mr. Lighton would stand for no nonsense, and ordered Evert into the
pitcher's box, promising that Tom should have the next chance. He would
have made Tom the regular substitute but for the fact that Evert, by
right of seniority, was entitled to it. Hearing this news, Langridge
came out of his sulks and resumed practice.
"I have a large framed picture of Randall winning the league pennant,"
announced Sid gloomily one night as he and Tom were sitting in their
room. "Our stock is about fifty below par now, and with only a few more
games to play, we've practically got to win them all in order to top the
league."
"Maybe we'll do it," said Tom, in an endeavor to be cheerful.
"We might, if you pitched, but Langridge is that mean that he'll keep in
just good enough form so Mr. Lighton won't send him to the bench, and
that's all. He won't do his best--no, I'll not say that. He is doing his
best, but--well, something's wrong, and I guess I'm not the only one who
knows it."
"No," said Tom quietly. "I do and have for some time. It's been a puzzle
to know what to do; keep still and let the 'varsity be beaten or squeal
on Langridge."
"Oh, one can't squeal, you know."
"No, that's what I thought, especially in my case. It would look as if I
was grinding my own ax."
"That's so. No, you can't say anything. But it's tough luck. Maybe
something will turn up. We've got a couple of games on our own grounds
next, and we may do better. If we don't, we may as well order our
funeral outfits. Well, I'm going to bone away at this confounded Latin.
Ten thousand maledictions be upon the head of the Roman who invented
it!"
Sid opened his book, and studied for half an hour. Tom likewise was
busily engaged, and only the ticking of the clock was heard, when
suddenly there came a gentle tap on the door.
"Who's there?" demanded Tom.
"Yellow, sky-blue and maroon," was the reply, which indicated that a
freshman was without, that being the password.
"Flagpole," answered Sid, which being translated meant that it was safe
to enter, no member of the faculty nor scout of the proctor's being
nigh.
Dutch Housenlager pushed open the portal and entered. He looked carefully
around, and then, coming on tiptoe to the middle of the room, after
having carefully shut the door, said in a whisper:
"It's all arranged!"
"Nay, nay, kind sir," retorted Sid, with a shake of his head.
"Nay nay what?" demanded Dutch indignantly.
"No tricks to-night," went on Sid. "We're two virtuous young men. We
belong to the ancient and honorable order of _infra digs_ to-night,
Dutch. Too near the exams. Thus did I exclaim 'nay, nay, kind sir.' We
are not to be tempted, nay, even if it were to take mine ancient enemy,
Pitchfork, and drop him into the lake; eh, Tom?"
"Yes. I can't afford to take any chances. Twice bitten once shy, or
words to that effect, you know. I, too, am delving into the hidden
paths that lead to the spring of which the poet doth sing."
"Say, you two give me a sore feeling in the cranium!" exclaimed Dutch as
he sank into the easy chair with force enough almost to disrupt it.
"Who's asking you to play any tricks?"
"Aren't you?"
"No."
"_Fiat justitia, ruat coelum!_" exclaimed Tom, with mock heroics. "We
have done you an injustice, most noble Dutchman. Say on, and we will
hear thee."
"I've a good notion not to," said Housenlager a bit sulkily. "Here I
come in to tell you fellows a piece of news, and I find you boning away,
and when I start to talk you spout Latin mottoes at me. I've a good
notion to dig out."
"Stay! Stay, dear friend!" cried Tom, laughing. "There, we'll chuck
studying for to-night, eh, Sid?"
"Sure. I'm sick of it."
"Now, say on," invited Tom.
Somewhat mollified, Dutch took an easier position in the creaking chair,
thereby raising a cloud of dust, and remarked:
"Well, the freshman dinner will come off to-morrow night. It's just been
decided."
"Honest?" cried Sid.
"Sure. Our committee has everything in shape, and we'll fool the sophs
this time. Ford Fenton and I have been going around notifying the
fellows. You see, we had to keep it quiet, because those sophs will put
it on the blink if they can."
"Sure they will," agreed Tom. "Where is it to be----"
He stopped suddenly, for there was the sound of footsteps in the hall
outside.
"Some one is spying," whispered Sid. Softly he opened the door and then
he laughed. "It's Fenton," he said as the other entered.
"All through?" asked Dutch of his partner.
"Yes. I don't believe the sophs suspect. A few years ago, when the
freshmen had a dinner, the sophs ate it all up, and my uncle says----"
Tom significantly reached for a heavy book, and Ford, with a
disappointed look, stopped his reminiscence.
"It's to be in Cardigan Hall, in town," explained Dutch, "and we'll
start from here in a----"
He paused in a listening attitude and tiptoed over to the door. Throwing
the portal open suddenly, he darted into the hall, the others crowding
up close to see what was going on.
"Some one was out there," declared Dutch as he came back, "but I couldn't
catch him. Maybe it was only one of our boys, though. Now I'll tell you
the plans," and he proceeded to go into them into detail, telling Tom and
Sid where to join the other freshmen the next night, in order to steal
away to Haddonfield and hold their banquet undisturbed by the sophomores.
Tom and Sid promised to be on hand, and the two members of the committee
departed, Ford Fenton being unable to tell what it was his uncle had
said. As Tom saw their guests to the door, something bright and shining
in the hall attracted his attention.
"It's a matchbox," he remarked as he picked it up. "It's got initials
on, too."
"What are they?"
"Hum--look like H. E. G."
"Horace E. Gladdus," said Sid. "I wonder if he was sneaking around here
trying to catch on about the dinner?"