RANDALL AGAINST BOXER
Tom and Phil stood staring at each other as Sid walked on ahead.
"Well, wouldn't that get your goat?" asked Tom.
"It sure would," admitted Phil. "He must have made up with her, after
all."
How it came about Sid, of course, would never tell. It was too new and
too delightful an experience for him--to actually be paying attentions
to some girl--to make it possible to discuss the matter with his chums.
Sufficient to say that in the course of two weeks more there was another
photograph in the room of the inseparables.
Baseball matters began to occupy more and more attention at Randall. The
team was being whipped into shape, and between Tom, Ed Kerr and the
coach the lads were beginning to get rid of the uncertainty engendered
by a winter of comparative idleness.
"Have you arranged any games yet?" asked Tom of Ed one afternoon,
following some sharp practice on the diamond.
"We play Boxer Hall next week," answered the manager. "And I do hope we
win. It means so much at the beginning of the season. How is the team,
do you think?"
"Do you mean ours or theirs?"
"Ours, of course."
"Fine, I should say," replied Tom.
"You know who'll pitch against you when we play Boxer, I dare say,"
remarked Mr. Leighton, who had joined Tom and Ed.
"No. Who?"
"Your old enemy, Langridge. He's displaced Dave Ogden, who twirled for
them last season. But you're not frightened, are you?"
"Not a bit of it! If there's anything that will make our fellows play
fierce ball it's to know that Langridge--the fellow who almost threw our
football team--is going to play against them. I couldn't ask a better
tonic. Will they play on our grounds?"
"No, we've got to go there. But don't let that worry you."
There was sharp practice for the next few days, and Tom and his chums
were put through "a course of sprouts" to quote Holly Cross. They did
some ragged work, under the eagle eye of the coach, and things began to
look bad, but it was only the last remnant of staleness disappearing,
for the day before the game there was exhibited a noticeable stiffness,
and a confidence that augured well for Randall.
"The batting still leaves something to be desired," remarked Mr.
Leighton, as practice was over for the day. "I have great hopes of Sid
Henderson, though."
"Yes, if----" began Tom.
"If what?" asked the coach quickly.
"If he doesn't go back on himself," finished the pitcher, but that was
not what he had intended to say. He was thinking of Sid's queer actions
of late--wondering what they portended, and what was the meaning of his
chum's odd absences, for, only the night previous, Sid had gone out,
following the receipt of a note, and had come in late, smelling vilely
of tobacco. Fortunately he had escaped detection by the proctor, but he
offered no explanation, and his manner was disturbed, and not like his
usual one.
As for Sid, well might his chums be puzzled about him. He seemed totally
to have changed, not only in manner but in his attitude toward Tom and
Phil. There was a new look on his face. Several times, of late, since
his acquaintance with Miss Harrison, and the reconciliation following
his little "_de trop faux pas_," as Tom termed it, Sid had been caught
day dreaming. Phil or Tom would look up from their studying to see Sid,
with a book falling idly from his hands, gazing vacantly into a corner
of the room, or looking abstractedly at his side of the wall space, as
though calculating just where would be the best spot for a certain
girl's picture.
It was a most enthralling occupation for Sid--this day dreaming. It was
a new experience--a deliciously tender and sweet one--for no young man
can be any the worse for thinking and dreaming of a fine-charactered
girl, albeit one who is amazingly pretty; in fact he is the better for
it. In Sid's case his infatuation had come so suddenly that it was
overwhelming. In the past he had either been shy with girls, or had
not cared enough for them to be more than decently polite. But now
everything was different. Though he had seen her but a few times, he
could call to mind instantly the very way in which she turned her head
when she addressed him. He could see the slight lifting of the eyebrows
as she asked a question, the sparkle that came into the blue eyes, that
held a hint of mischief. He could hear her rippling laugh, and he knew
in what a tantalizing way a certain ringlet escaped from the coils of
her hair, and fell upon her neck.
Often in class the lecturer would suddenly call his name, and Sid would
start, for he had sent his thoughts afar, and it required a sort of
wireless message to bring them back.
The day of the Boxer game could not have been better. There had been a
slight shower in the night, but only sufficient to lay the dust, and it
was just cool enough to be delightful. The Randall players and their
supporters, including a crowd of enthusiastic "rooters," a number
of substitutes and a mascot, in the shape of a puppy, fantastically
attired, made the trip to Boxer Hall in special trolleys, hired stage
coaches and some automobiles. Bert Bascome owned an automobile, and he
made much of himself in consequence.
There was a big crowd in the grand stands when the Randall players
arrived, and they were received with cheers, for the sporting spirit
between the two colleges was a generous one.
"My, what a lot of girls!" remarked Tom to Sid and Phil, as the three
chums looked over toward the seats, which were a riot of color.
"Yes, all the Fairview students are here to-day," spoke Phil. "Ruth said
she and Miss Tyler were coming."
"I wonder if----" began Sid, and then he stopped, blushing like a girl.
"Yes, Miss Harrison is coming with them," replied Phil, with a laugh.
"We'll look 'em up after the game--if we win."
"Why not, if we lose?" asked Sid quickly.
"I haven't the nerve, if we let Boxer Hall take the first game of the
season from us," was the reply.
Fast and snappy practice began, and it was somewhat of a revelation to
the Randall players to note the quick work on the part of their rivals.
In getting around the bases, batting out flies, getting their fingers on
high balls and low grounders, Boxer Hall seemed to have improved very
much over last year.
"We've got our work cut out for us," remarked Phil in a low voice to his
two chums. "Say, Langridge has some speed, too. Look at that!"
The new pitcher of Boxer Hall was throwing to Stoddard, the catcher, and
the balls landed in the pocket of the big mitt with a vicious thud.
"Don't worry. Sid, here, will knock out a couple of home runs," said
Tom. "Won't you, Sid?"
"I only hope I don't fan the air. How are his curves?"
"Pretty good, for the first few innings," answered Tom. "After that you
can find 'em easy enough. He wears down--at least he did last year."
The practice came to an end. The preliminaries were arranged, and, with
the privilege of the home team coming last to the bat, Randall went in
the initial inning. The two teams were made up as follows:
RANDALL COLLEGE
Sid Henderson, _second base_.
William Housenlager, _catcher_.
Phil Clinton, _first base_.
Tom Parsons, _pitcher_.
Dan Woodhouse, _third base_.
Jerry Jackson, _right field_.
Bob Molloy, _shortstop_.
Joe Jackson, _left field_.
Holman Cross, _center field_.
BOXER HALL
Lynn Ralling, _second base_.
Hugh McGherity, _right field_.
Roy Conklin, _left field_.
Arthur Flood, _center field_.
George Stoddard, _catcher_.
Pinkerton Davenport, _first base_.
Fred Langridge, _pitcher_.
Bert Hutchin, _third base_.
Sam Burton, _shortstop_.
"Now, Sid, show 'em what you can do," advised Mr. Leighton, as Sid
selected a bat, and walked up to the plate. He faced Langridge, and
noted the grim and almost angry look in the eyes of the former pitcher
on the Randall 'varsity.
"Make him give you a nice one," called Bean Perkins, who was ready to
shout for victory.
A ball came whizzing toward Sid, and so sure was he that he was going to
be hit that he dodged back, but he was surprised when it neatly curved
out, went over the plate, and the umpire called:
"Strike One!"
There was a howl of protest on the part of the Randall sympathizers, but
it died away when Mr. Leighton held up a warning hand.
Sid struck viciously at the next ball, and felt a thrill of joy as he
felt the impact, but, as he rushed away toward first he heard the
umpire's call of "Foul; strike!" and he came back.
"Wait for a good one," counseled Phil, in a low voice. "Make him give
you a pretty one."
Langridge sent in another swift curve and Sid struck at it. Another foul
resulted, and he began to wonder what he was up against. The next
attempt was a ball, for Langridge threw away out, but Sid saw coming a
moment later, what he thought would make at least a pretty one-bagger.
He swung viciously at it, but missed it clean, and walked to the bench
somewhat chagrined.
Dutch Housenlager, with a smile of confidence, walked up next. He was
cool, and Langridge, having struck out Sid, seemed to lose some of his
anger. He delivered a good ball--an in-shoot--and Dutch caught it on the
end of his bat. It seemed to promise well, but Roy Conklin, out on left
field was right under it, and Dutch ingloriously came back from first.
"Now, Phil, line one out!" pleaded Tom, as his chum selected his bat,
and Phil struck at the first ball, sending a hot liner right past the
shortstop.
Phil got to first, and stole second when Tom came up, making it only by
a close margin.
"A home run, Tom," begged the coach, and Tom nodded with a grim smile on
his face. But alas for hopes! He knocked a fly, which the right fielder
got without much difficulty, and the first half of the initial inning
was over with a goose-egg in the space devoted to Randall.
"Never mind, we're finding him," consoled Tom, as he walked to his box.
Lynn Ralling was up first for Boxer Hall, and Tom resolved to strike him
out, if it was at all possible. It was his first pitching in a league
game that season, and he was a trifle nervous. Still he held himself
well in hand, and, though the first two attempts were called "balls" the
next three went down as strikes. Ralling refused to swing on two of
them, but the last one seemed to him as just right, but Tom had the
satisfaction of striking him out. McGherity, the next man up, was a
notoriously heavy hitter, and Tom purposely gave him a pass to first. He
struck out Roy Conklin, but something went wrong with the next man,
Arthur Flood, who knocked a two-bagger. Then George Stoddard got to
first on a swift grounder, that, somehow rolled through the legs of
Bricktop, much to that hero's disgust. There was some good playing the
rest of the inning, George being caught napping on second, and it ended
with two runs in favor of Boxer Hall.
"We've got to wake up!" decided Mr. Leighton grimly. "Put a little more
ginger into it, boys!"
"What's the matter with our team?" Bean Perkins demanded to know in his
loudest voice.
"It's all right," was the response, from scores of throats.
"Now for the 'Conquer or Die' song," called Bean, and as Dan Woodhouse
went up to the bat in the beginning of the second inning the strains
of "_Aut vincere aut mori_," welled out over the diamond. But the
inspiring melody that, more than once had been the means of inspiring a
faint-hearted team to victory, seemed to be of no effect now. Not a man
got further than second, and another goose egg went up to the credit of
Randall. But a similar dose was served to Boxer in the same inning, and
when Randall opened the third with Holly Cross at the bat, there was
much wonder, and not a little disappointment. What would Holly do? He
soon showed by knocking a two bagger, but, alas for what followed.
Though he managed to steal to third, Langridge pitched so well that
those who followed were struck out, and there was another white circle.
It was duplicated for Boxer Hall, however, and there began to be talk of
a "pitchers' battle."
"We'll find Langridge this inning," prophesied Tom, and it was partly
justified, for one run came in, which sent the grand stand where the
Randallites were gathered wild with delight.
"Now, fellows, give 'em that song--'We're going to wallop you now,'"
called Bean, and there arose a riot of "melody." In the fifth inning
neither side scored, and then came the turn of Captain Tom's men again.
They delighted their supporters by pulling down two runs, and making the
score three to two in their favor. Then, when Boxer Hall came up for
their inning, they hammered out two runs, which sent Randall stock down
to zero again with the score of four to three against them.
The seventh and eighth innings saw big circles chalked up in the frames
of both teams, though Tom and his men worked hard to bring in at least
another run. But it was not to be.
"Now, fellows, it's our last chance," remarked the coach, as Holly Cross
stepped up in the ninth, his teeth fairly gritting together. "Two runs
to win--that is if we hold 'em down when they come up."
"I'll do that part," guaranteed Tom grimly.
From the grand stands there were shouts and yells of encouragement--and
otherwise. Bean led his cohorts in, "It's Your Last Chance, Boys--Soak
It!" a Randall classic of the diamond. Well, Holly did "soak" it, with
the result that he knocked the prettiest three-bagger seen in many a
day. Then came Sid's turn. Two strikes were called on him, and then came
a foul.
"I'm afraid he's going to fan," whispered Tom to the coach.
"Watch him," advised Mr. Leighton.
There was a reassuring "thump" as the next ball reached Sid. Away sailed
the sphere right over the center fielder's head.
"It's a beaut! It's a beaut! Run! Run! Run!" yelled the frenzied
students. Holly was legging it in from third and my! how Sid was
running! Low down, and like the wind! The frantic center fielder was
racing for the ball amid the daisies. On and on came Sid!
"A home run! A home run!" screamed Tom and his players, jumping up and
down and over the bench in their excitement. Around the bases came Sid,
following Holly. The second baseman swung around third and started for
home, but the ball was on the way. Would he beat it?
He did, by about a second, rushing in almost exhausted, over the plate
which Holly had just crossed.
"Wow! Wow! Wow!" cried Sid's and Holly's mates. "That wins the game!"
and they hugged Sid and his chum. "Two Runs!"
"The game is not won yet," said the coach, more soberly. "We need more
runs."
But they couldn't get them. There was a sudden improvement on the part
of Langridge, who had begun to weaken, and he struck out the next two
men, the third getting out on a bingle. But the score was five to four
in favor of Randall, and if Tom could hold them down, and strike out
three men, the game was theirs. Could he do it?
There was a great strain on everyone as the Randall team went out to the
field. From the grand stand came softly the "Conquer or Die" song, and
Tom felt a sense of moisture in his eyes.
"I'll strike 'em out!" he muttered.
How he did it is college history to this day. Calmly he faced the first
man, and delivered a ball.
"Strike!" howled the umpire, and this time it was Boxer Hall that sent
up a groan of protest. But it was silenced, and in two more balls
delivered over the plate with faultless precision, but with puzzling
curves, Tom had one down.
"Only two more," called Phil to him encouragingly.
Tom nodded. How he did pitch! The balls sounded like guns when they hit
Dutch Housenlager's big mitt, but he held them.
"Three strikes--batter out!" yelled the umpire, and the second man threw
down his stick and walked disgustedly to the bench.
George Stoddard was up next. Tom was afraid of him. He delivered a
puzzling slow drop, but Stoddard got under it for a foul.
Tom breathed a bit easier. Two more chances. He sent one of his best out
shoots, and Stoddard foolishly bit at it. The ball just grazed the bat,
and bounded up into the air. Dutch made a desperate effort for it.
"Can't get it!" yelled the crowd, as it went over the back grand stand.
The umpire threw Tom a new ball. He hated to use it, as the other seemed
just right. But the one that had gone over the stand was slow in being
returned. Dutch signalled for another drop, but Tom shook his head. He
wanted to try a delicate in-curve.
It seemed that the players and spectators were scarcely breathing--it
was the critical point of the game, yet with two down Boxer Hall could
scarcely hope to win. Yet there was a chance. Tom delivered the ball.
Stoddard swung at it with such force that he turned completely around.
But the new, white ball was safe in the mitt of Dutch Housenlager.
Stoddard had struck out--there were three down for Boxer in the ending
of the ninth, and not a run. Randall had won--the score being five to
four.
Then such a chorus of yells as went up! Even Bean Perkins could scarcely
be heard.
"Wow! Wow! Wow!" cried Dutch, seizing Holly Cross around the waist, and
doing a dance with him about the bench. "We did it!"
"Great work, boys!" cried the coach. "I congratulate you!"
"Three cheers for Randall!" proposed Pinkey Davenport for Boxer Hall,
and the yells came with spontaneous enthusiasm.
"Three and a tiger for Boxer Hall!" yelled Tom, and his men nearly split
their throats.
"Come on! Clean up, and then for some fun!" cried Phil. "We'll go hunt
up the girls, as soon as we look decent again," he suggested to Tom and
Sid, who nodded joyfully.
Langridge passed Tom.
"It's only one game," growled the defeated pitcher. "We'll do you
fellows next time!"
"You'll have the chance," retorted Tom good naturedly.
A little later the victorious pitcher, and his two chums, having donned
their street clothes, were strolling across the field toward a knot of
girls.