A CLASH
Sid stood facing his two chums, and his breath came quick and fast. He
was much worked up over his discovery, as were also his roommates.
"From the time I picked up this envelope, after that day when we had
lunch with your sister, Phil," he went on, "I've been trying to think in
whose handwriting it was. Perhaps I had no right to take the envelope,
but I couldn't help it after she--Miss Harrison dropped it. To-night,
after I saw him--saw Langridge out walking with her--I came back here,
and I had a suspicion. I knew I had an old note of Langridge's somewhere
around. I found it, and compared it with the envelope. You see what it
shows."
"He must have sent her the clipping," agreed Tom. "But why?"
"Easy enough to see that," answered Sid. "He was mad because I--er--I
happened to go with her a few times, and he is taking this course
to give me a bad name, though if she only knew it Langridge is no
white-ribboner."
"Maybe that was a fake clipping," suggested Phil. "I've heard of such
things being done before. Langridge might have hired a printer to set
that item up so that it looked as if it was cut from a newspaper."
"No," answered Sid quietly. "The item was genuine. I have a similar one
I cut from the Haddonfield _Herald_."
"But it isn't true?" inquired Tom.
"No--that is--well, I can't say anything about it," and Sid looked
miserable again. "But I'm glad I found out who sent it to Miss
Harrison."
"What are you going to do about it?" asked Tom.
"I'm going to have it out with Langridge the first time I meet him. I'll
punch----"
"Better go slow," advised Phil. "Take it easy, old man. Langridge is a
slick article. We know that of old. If you try a rough-house he'll have
you at a disadvantage."
"I can't help it. I'm not going to let him get ahead of me this way."
"Oh, forget it and play ball," advised Tom with a laugh, for he felt
that the subject was getting too serious, and his heart was wrapped up
in his team, despite a certain pretty girl.
"I only wish I could--forget it," answered Sid.
It was several days after this, and a few days before the game with
Wescott University, which was to be played on the latter club's
grounds, that Phil, Tom and Sid journeyed to the town of Haddonfield
to get some things to take with them on the trip. For it was quite a
journey to play Wescott, a college with whom Randall had clashed in
football, losing the game because Phil was taken sick and a new quarter
back had to go in. It took a day to go and a day to come, and the lads
would need to take some baggage with them.
The three chums had made their purchases, and were on their way to take
a car back to Randall, when Sid grasped the arm of Tom.
"There he is!" he exclaimed.
"Who?" asked Tom, who was critically examining a new tie he had
purchased.
"Langridge!" cried Sid. "I'm going to have it out with him."
"Don't," begged Phil, but it was too late, for Sid had crossed the
street to where the former pitcher for Randall was walking with another
chap, as sportily attired as was he.
"I want to speak to you!" called Sid to his enemy, as he came up behind
him, Tom and Phil following at a distance.
"What's that?" drawled Langridge, turning. "Oh, it's you, is it
Henderson? Well, I don't know that I care to talk to you. I'm not used
to associating with chaps caught in gambling raids!"
Sid was fairly trembling with rage, but he managed to take from his
pocket a duplicate of the clipping which Miss Harrison had received.
"Did you--did you send that to her?" spluttered Sid.
"Send it to whom?" asked Langridge insolently.
"Miss Harrison? That lying clipping about me? Did you send it, I ask?"
"Well, supposing I did? It's a free country; isn't it? Besides, I'm not
so sure that the clipping doesn't tell the truth."
"Then you sent it!" cried Sid. "You don't dare deny it!"
"Dare you deny that you are the person referred to in it? Dare you deny
that you were in that gambling hall the night of the raid? Dare you deny
that?" fired back Langridge.
Sid seemed stunned.
"I--I--er--how--how did you----" he was stammering.
"I see you don't dare deny it," went on Langridge with a sneer. "Your
manner is answer enough. Come on, Perkins. I don't care to prolong this
discussion."
"But I do!" cried poor Sid, now beside himself. "I'll get even with you
for this dirty, sneaking piece of work! You dare send that clipping to
her--to her! I'll----" he sprang forward, with clenched fists, and
before Tom or Phil could stop him, he had struck Langridge. The latter,
with a snarl of rage, jumped toward Sid, but his friend clasped his arm.
"Not here! Not here!" implored Perkins. "You can't fight here,
Langridge."
"No, that's right," admitted the other with a shrug of his shoulders, as
he calmed himself with an effort. "And I don't know that I care, after
all, for the notoriety of fighting him." He turned aside. Sid was about
to spring forward again, his face distorted with rage, but Tom and Phil
held him back.
"Come on," whispered the pitcher in his ear. "You don't know what you're
doing, Sid. You're only making matters worse."
With something like a sob in his throat, Sid allowed his chums to lead
him away.