MISS MABEL HARRISON
Neither Tom nor Phil made any reference, the following morning, to the
incident of the night before. As usual, none of the boys got up when the
warning of the alarm clock summoned them, for they always allowed half
an hour for its persistent habit of running fast. As it was, it happened
to be correct on this occasion, and they were barely in time for chapel,
Tom having to adjust his necktie on the race across the campus.
"Well, what's on for to-day?" asked Phil, as, with Tom and Sid, he
strolled from the chapel after service.
"Baseball practice this afternoon," decided Tom, for the rain had
stopped.
"It'll be pretty sloppy," observed Phil dubiously.
"Wear rubbers," advised the captain. "The fellows need some fresh air,
and they're going to get it. Be on hand, Sid?"
"Sure. Now I've got to get a disagreeable job over with. Me for the
doctor's office," and that was his only reference to the punishment
meted out to him. He was required to do the usual number of lines of
Latin prose, which was not hard for him, as he was a good scholar. Tom
and Sid went to their lectures, the captain, on the way, calling to
the various members of the team to be on hand at the diamond in the
afternoon.
Sid accomplished his sentence of punishment in the room, and after
dinner the three chums, with a motley crowd of players, and lovers of
the great game, moved over the campus toward the diamond.
"Done anything about a manager?" asked Holly Cross, as he tightened his
belt and began tossing up a grass-stained ball.
"Not yet," replied Tom. "There's time enough. I want to get the fellows
in some kind of shape. We won't play a game for a month yet--that is any
except practice ones, and we don't need a manager to arrange for them.
Whom have you fellows in mind?"
"Ed Kerr," spoke Holly promptly. "He knows the game from A to Z."
"I thought he was going to play," came quickly from Tom. "We need him on
the nine."
"He isn't going to play this season," went on Holly. "I heard him say
so. He wants to save himself for football, and he says he can't risk
going in for both. He'd make a good manager."
"Fine!" agreed Tom, Sid and Phil.
"Yes, but did you hear the latest?" asked Snail Looper, gliding along,
almost like the reptile he was christened after.
"What?" demanded several.
"There's talk of Ford Fenton for manager," went on Snail.
"What, Ford!" cried Tom. "He'd be giving us nothing all the while but
'my uncle says this' and 'my uncle used to do it that way'! No Ford for
mine, though I like the chap fairly well."
"Same here," agreed Phil. "We can stand him, but not his uncle," for, be
it known, Ford Fenton, one of the sophomore students, was the nephew of
a man who had been a celebrated coach at Randall in the years gone by.
Ford believed in keeping his memory green, and on every possible, and
some impossible, occasions he would preface his remarks with "My Uncle
says" and then go on and tell something. It got on the nerves of his
fellows, and they "rigged" him unmercifully about it, but Fenton could
not seem to take the hint. His uncle was a source of pride to him, but
it is doubtful if the former coach knew how his reputation suffered at
the hands of his indiscrete youthful relative.
"Who told you Fenton had a chance for manager?" asked Sid Henderson.
"Why, Bert Bascome is his press agent."
"Bascome, the freshman?" Phil wanted to know, and Snail Looper nodded.
"Guess he didn't get all the hazing that was coming to him last fall,"
remarked Tom. "We'll have to tackle him again. Kerr is the only logical
candidate for manager, if he isn't going to play."
"That's right," came in a chorus, as the lads kept on toward the
diamond.
Tom was doing some hard thinking. It was a new responsibility for
him--to run the team--and he wanted a manager on whom he could depend.
If there was a contest over the place, as seemed likely from what Snail
Looper had said, it would mean perhaps a dividing of interests, and lack
of support for the team. He did not like the prospect, but he knew
better than to tell his worries to the players now. At present he wanted
to get them into some kind of shape, after a winter of comparative
idleness.
"Here comes Mr. Leighton," observed Phil, as a young, and pleasant-faced
gentleman was seen strolling toward the diamond. "Everybody work hard
now--no sloppy work."
"That's right," assented Tom. "Fellows, what I want most to bring out
this season," he went on, "is some good hitting. Good batting wins
games, other things being equal. We've got to bat to win."
"You needn't talk," put in Dutch Housenlager, coming up then, and, with
his usual horse play trying to trip Tom. "You are the worst hitter on
the team."
"I know it," admitted Tom good naturedly, as he gave Dutch a welt on the
chest, which made that worthy gasp. "My strong point isn't batting, and
I know it. I can pitch a little, perhaps----"
"You're there with the goods when it comes to twirling," called out
Holly Cross.
"Well, then, I'm going to depend on you fellows for the stick work,"
went on Tom. "But let's get down to business. The ground isn't so wet."
"Well, boys, let's see what we can do," proposed the coach, and presently
balls were being pitched and batted to and fro, grounders were being
picked up by Bricktop Molloy, who excelled in his position of shortstop,
while Jerry and Joe Jackson, the Jersey twins, with Phil Clinton, who on
this occasion filled, respectively, the positions of right, left and
center field were catching high flies.
"Now for a practice game," proposed Tom. "I want to see if I have any of
my curves left."
Two scrub nines were soon picked out, and a game was gotten under way.
It was "ragged and sloppy" as Holly Cross said, but it served to warm up
the lads, and to bring out strong and weak points, which was the object
sought.
The team, of which Tom was just then the temporary captain, won by a
small margin, and then followed some coaching instructions from Mr.
Leighton.
"That will do for to-day," he said. "Be at it again to-morrow, and we'll
soon be in shape."
The players and their admirers--lads who had not made the team--strolled
off the diamond. Tom, walking along with Phil and Sid, suddenly put his
hand in his pocket.
"Just my luck!" he exclaimed.
"What's the matter?" asked Phil.
"I'm broke," was the answer, "and I want to get a new shirt. Phil, lend
me a couple of dollars. I'll get my check from dad to-morrow."
"I'm in the same boat, old man," was the rueful reply. "Tackle Sid here,
I saw him with a bunch of money yesterday. He can't have spent it all
since, for he isn't in love."
"Just the thing," assented Tom. "Fork over a couple of bones, Sid. I'll
let you have it directly."
"I--er--I'm sorry," fairly stammered the second baseman, for that was
the position Tom had picked out for his chum, "I haven't but fifty
cents until I get my allowance, or until----" and he stopped suddenly.
"Wow!" cried Phil. "You must have slathered it away last night then,
when you were out, for I saw you with a bundle----"
Then he stopped, for he saw a queer look come over Sid's face. The
second baseman blushed, and was about to make reply, when Phil remarked:
"I beg your pardon, Sid. I hadn't any right to make that crack. Of
course I--er--you understand--er--I----"
"That's all right," said Sid quickly. "I was a little flush yesterday,
but I had a sudden demand on me, Tom, and----"
"Don't mention it!" interrupted Tom. "I dare say I can get trusted at
Ballman's for a shirt. I'm going out to-night, or I wouldn't need a
clean one, and my duds haven't come back from the laundry."
"I didn't know my sister was going out to-night," fired Phil, for Tom
had been rather "rushing" Ruth Clinton of late, "rushing" being the
college term for accompanying a young lady to functions.
"I guess she doesn't have to ask you," retorted the captain. "But I
understood you and Miss Tyler----"
"Speak of trolley cars, and you'll hear the gong," put in Sid suddenly.
"I believe your two affinities are now approaching."
"By Jove, he's right!" exclaimed Phil, looking across the green campus.
"There's Ruth, and Madge Tyler is with her. I didn't know Ruth was
coming over from Fairview."
"And they've got a friend with them--there are three girls," said Tom
quickly. "Sid, you're right in it. There's one for you."
"Not on your life!" cried the tall and good-looking second baseman.
"I've got an important engagement," and he would have fled had not Tom
and Phil seized and held him, despite his struggles, until Miss Ruth
Clinton, Miss Madge Tyler and the third young lady approached. Whereat,
seeing that his struggle to escape was futile, as well as undignified,
Sid gave it up.
"Hello, Ruth!" cried Phil good-naturedly to his sister, but his eyes
sought those of Madge Tyler. "How'd you get here?"
"Trolley," was the demure answer. "I'm going to the Phi Beta theatrical
with Mr. Parsons to-night, and I thought I'd save him the trouble of
coming for me. Madge and I are staying in Haddonfield with friends of
Miss Harrison."
"Good!" cried Tom, as he moved closer to Phil's pretty sister, while,
somehow, Phil and Madge seemed to drift together.
"Oh, I almost forgot, you don't know Mabel, do you, boys?" asked Madge,
with a merry laugh. "Miss Mabel Harrison. Mabel, allow me to present to
you Tom Parsons, champion pitcher of the Randall 'varsity nine; Phil
Clinton, who made such a good showing on the gridiron last year, he's
Ruth's brother, you know, and----" she paused as she turned to Sid
Henderson, who was moving about uncomfortably.
"Sid Henderson, the only and original misogynist of Randall college,"
finished Tom, with a mischievous laugh. "He is the only one in captivity,
but will eat from your hand."
"I'll fix you for that," growled Sid in Tom's ear, but the girls
laughed, as did Phil and the captain, and the introductions were
completed. Miss Harrison proved to be an exceptionally pretty and
vivacious girl, a fit companion for Ruth and Madge. She was fond of
sport, as she soon announced, and Phil and Tom warmed to her at once.
As might have been expected, Tom walked along with Ruth, Phil with Miss
Tyler, and that left Sid nothing to do but to stroll at the side of Miss
Harrison.
"So you play ball, too," she began as an opener, looking at his uniform.
"Yes--er--that is I play at it, sometimes," floundered Sid, conscious of
a big green grass stain on one leg, where he had fallen in reaching for
a high fly.
"Isn't it great!" went on the girl, her blue eyes flashing as she
glanced up at Sid. Somehow the lad's heart was beating strangely.
"It's the only game--except football," he conceded. "Do you
play--I--er--I mean--of course----"
"Oh, I just love football!" she cried. "I hope our team wins the
championship this year!"
"Your team?" and Sid was plainly puzzled.
"Well, I mean the boys of Fairview--I attend there you know."
"I didn't know it, but I'm glad to," spoke Sid, wondering why he never
before thought blue eyes pretty. "Do you live at the college?"
"Oh, yes; but you see I happened to come to Haddonfield to stay over
night with relatives, and when I found Madge and Ruth were going to a
little affair here to-night, I asked them to stay with me. It's such a
jaunt back to the college."
"Indeed it is," agreed Sid. "You and Miss Tyler and Miss Clinton are
great friends, I judge," he went on, wondering what his next sentence
would be.
"Indeed we are. Aren't they perfectly sweet girls?"
"Fine!" exclaimed Sid with such enthusiasm that his companion looked at
him in some surprise, her flashing eyes completing the work already
begun by their first glance.
"I thought you didn't care for--that is--was that true what Mr. Parsons
accused you of?" Miss Harrison asked. "Is a misogynist a very savage
creature?" she went on demurely.
"That's all rot--I beg your pardon--they were rigging you--I--er--I
mean--Oh, I say, Miss Harrison, are you going to the Phi Beta racket
to-night--I mean the theatricals to-night?" and poor Sid floundered in
deeper and deeper.
"No," answered the girl, "I'm not going."
"Why not?" asked Sid desperately.
"Because I haven't been asked, I suppose," and she laughed merrily.
"Then would you mind--that is--I have two tickets--but I didn't expect
to go. Now, if you would----"
"Oh, Mr. Henderson, don't go on my account!"
"Oh, it isn't on your account--I mean--that is--Oh, wouldn't you like to
go?" and he seemed in great distress.
"I should love to," she almost whispered.
"Then will you--that is would you--er--that is----"
"Of course I will," answered Mabel, taking pity on her companion's
embarrassment. "Won't it be lovely, with Madge and Ruth, and her
brother and Mr. Parsons. We'll be quite a party."
"It'll be immense!" declared Sid with great conviction. Thereafter he
seemed to find it easier to keep the conversation going.
The little group came to the end of the campus. Phil, Tom, Madge and
Ruth waited for Sid and Mabel.
"Well, we'll see you girls to-night," said Tom, for he and his chum were
anxious to get to their room and "tog up." Then he added: "It's a pity
Miss Harrison isn't going. If I had thought----"
"Miss Harrison is going!" cried Sid with sudden energy.
"What?" cried Tom and Phil together. Then, realizing that it might
embarrass the girl, Tom added:
"Fine! We'll all go together. Come on, Sid, and get some of the outfield
mud scraped away."
The girls waved laughing farewells, and Sid, rather awkwardly, shook
hands with Miss Harrison.
"What's the matter, old chap?" asked Tom of him, when they were beyond
hearing distance of the girls. "Are you afraid you'll never see her
again?"
"Shut up!" cried Sid.
"Wonders will never cease," went on Phil. "To see our old misogynist
being led along by a pretty girl! However did you get up the spunk to
ask her to go to-night, sport?"
"Shut up!" cried Sid again. "Haven't I got a right to?"
"Oh, of course!" agreed Tom quickly. "It's a sign of regeneration, old
man. I'm glad to see it! What color are her eyes?"
"Blue," answered Sid promptly, before he thought.
"Ha! Ha!" laughed Phil and Tom.
"Did you get her photograph?" asked Tom, clinging to Phil, so strenuous
was his mirth.
"Say, I'll punch your head if you don't quit!" threatened Sid, and then,
as he saw Wallops, the messenger, coming toward him, with a letter,
there came to Sid's face a new look--one of fear, his chums thought.
He read the note quickly, and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he
turned, and hastened after the three girls.
"Here, what's up?" demanded Tom, for Sid had acted strangely.
"I can't go to the theatricals to-night, after all," was the surprising
answer. "I must apologize to Miss Harrison. Will you take her, Tom?"
"Of course," was the answer, and then, as Sid hastened to make his
excuses to the girl who, but a few minutes before, he had asked to
accompany him, his two chums looked at each other, and shook their
heads. The mystery about Sid was deepening.