A FRESHMAN PLOT
Tom stood staring at the door which closed after Sid--staring as if he
could not believe what he had heard. He was roused from his reverie by
Phil's voice.
"I'm afraid you've only made matters worse, Tom."
"Made 'em worse? They can't be any worse," was the testy reply. "Hang it
all! We're about as bad off now as we well can be. I wanted to get Sid
back on the team, and--and----"
"There's something we can't get at," declared Phil. "It is something
pretty strong, or Sid would never keep quiet and see the college lose."
"Not unless he's altogether different from what he was last term,"
agreed Tom, with a puzzled air. "He once said he hoped he would be
able to tell us what his secret was--soon--I only wish the time would
come--soon--we need Sid's stick work on the team. I wonder if it has
anything to do with a girl--Miss Harrison?"
"She's only one factor in the game. I fancy that was what Sid meant
when he said he wanted to get back on the team more than we realized--he
meant that it was so Miss Harrison would be friends with him again, for
the same thing that caused the disagreement between them, got Sid into
trouble with the proctor. And, if what Ruth says is true, Miss Harrison
cares a lot for Sid."
"Oh, you can't tell much about girls," retorted Tom, with an air of a
youth who was past-master in the art of knowing the feminine mind. "Of
course that's not saying that Ruth doesn't mean what she says," he added
hastily, for Phil was her brother. "But look at how Miss Harrison went
with Langridge."
"Only a couple of times, and I fancy she didn't know his true character.
She gave him his quietus soon enough after the trick he tried to play
with the mirror."
"That's so. Well, I wish this tangle would be straightened out somehow.
It's getting on my nerves."
"A baseball 'varsity captain shouldn't have nerves."
"I know it, but I can't help it. Hello, some one's coming. Maybe it's
Sid."
"No, it's Dutch Housenlager, by his tread," and Phil's guess was right.
"Glad I found somebody in," remarked Dutch, as he was about to throw
himself with considerable force on the old sofa. Tom grabbed the
catcher, and shunted him off to one side so violently that Dutch sat
down on the floor, with a jar that shook the room.
"Here, what's that for?" he demanded, somewhat dazed.
"It was to save our sofa," Tom explained. "You were coming down on it as
if you were making a flying tackle. It would have been broken like a
half-sawed-through goal post if you had landed. I side-tracked you,
that's all."
"Oh," answered Dutch, as he slowly arose. "Next time I wish you'd serve
notice on me when you're going to do a thing like that, and I'll wear my
football suit," and he rubbed his back gingerly.
"Would you mind translating your remark about being glad you found
somebody in?" requested Phil.
"With pleasure, son. I've been to about sixteen different domiciles this
evening, and every one was vacant. I've got something to talk about.
Where's Sid?"
"He went out a while ago," answered Tom, uneasily.
"Seems to me you fellows aren't as chummy as you once were," remarked
Dutch, taking a seat in the old armchair, after a questioning look at
Tom, who nodded a permission.
"Oh, yes, we are," exclaimed Phil quickly. "Isn't it fierce that Sid's
off the team."
"Rotten--simply rotten," agreed Dutch. "Just when we need him most. Why
didn't you chaps keep him in the straight and narrow path that leads to
baseball victories?"
"We tried," came quickly from Phil. "But Sid----"
"Oh, it'll be all right," interrupted Tom. "I think things will
straighten themselves out." In his heart he did not believe this, but he
did not want Dutch to go away with the idea that there was a cloud
hanging over the "inseparables." That would never do. "I have an idea
that the faculty will relent at the last minute," went on the captain.
"Especially when they know that the championship depends on it. Then
they'll let Sid play. If they don't we'll get up another petition, and
make Bascome and his crowd sign, or we'll run 'em out of college."
"Speaking of the freshmen brings me to what I came here for," declared
Dutch, and Tom gave a sigh of relief, that their visitor was away from
the delicate subject. "What are we going to do to fool the first years,
and keep 'em away from our spring dinner?" demanded Dutch. "That's what
I called about. The dinner is to be held next week, a few days before
our game with Fairview, and, naturally, the freshies will try to break
it up."
"I've been so busy with getting ready for the exams and baseball, that I
haven't given the dinner much thought," declared Tom. "Of course we've
got to have it, and we must fool the freshies."
"Sure," agreed Phil. "Let's go have a talk with Holly Cross. He may be
able to suggest something."
"Come on!" called Dutch. "We'll call on Holly."
As the three strolled down the corridor, out on the campus, and in the
direction of Holly's room, the genial center fielder having an apartment
in one of the college club houses, Dutch nudged his companions.
"Look," he remarked, "there go Ford Fenton and Bert Bascome, with
several freshies. I don't like to see one of the sophs mixing it up so
close with the first years."
"Me either," agreed Tom. "Ford ought to stick to his own class. The
trouble is few of our fellows like him, on account of his ways and his
'uncle,' whereas the freshmen will stand for them. That's why Ford hangs
out in their camp. But with our annual spring dinner coming off, I don't
like it."
"Oh, Ford wouldn't dare betray us," was Phil's opinion. They kept on
across the campus, and were soon in Holly's room, where plans for the
dinner were eagerly discussed.
If they could have seen what took place a little later in the room of
Bert Bascome, the four sophomores would have had more cause than ever to
regret the intimacy between Ford Fenton and some of the first-year
crowd.
"It's your best chance to get even with them for making fun of you,
Ford," Bascome was urging the lad whose uncle had once been a coach at
Randall. "It will serve them right."
"But I hate to give their plans away," objected Ford. "I'm a sophomore,
and----"
"They don't treat you as one," urged Henry Delfield, Bascome's crony.
"It will be a fine chance to get back at them."
"Suppose they find out that I told?" asked Ford.
"They never will. We'll see to that," promised Bert eagerly. "All we
want you to do is to tell us where the dinner is going to be held. We'll
do the rest. There'll be a fight, of course, when we arrive, to break it
up, and, just so Parsons, Clinton, Henderson and that crowd won't be
suspicious, you can pitch into me--make believe knock me down, you know,
and all that. Then they won't have any suspicion of you."
"Think not?" inquired Ford.
"Sure not. All we want is a tip, and when you've given it you'll be in a
position to laugh at those fellows who are laughing at you so often."
"That's right, they do make a lot of fun of me," said Ford weakly. "All
right, I'll let you know, as soon as I find out where the dinner's going
to be held. But don't squeal on me," and the prospective traitor looked
apprehensively at the plotting freshmen.
"Not for worlds," Bascome assured him solemnly, and Ford left, promising
to deliver his classmates into the hands of their traditional enemies.