The Rival Pitchers Part 1

The Rival Pitchers.

by Lester Chadwick.

CHAPTER I

THE OLD BELL CLAPPER

Down the green campus they strolled, a motley group of st.u.r.dy freshmen, talking excitedly. In their midst was a tall, good-looking lad, who seemed to be the center of discussion. Yet, in spite of the fact that the others appeared to be deferring something to him, he regarded them with rather an amused and cynical smile on his face. He paused to brush an invisible bit of dust from his well-fitting clothes.

"Well, aren't we going to make a try for it to-night?" asked one youth, whose hat was decorated with a silk band, yellow and maroon in color.

"My uncle, who used to be a football coach here, says the freshmen always used to get it the first week of the term. My uncle----"

"Oh, let up about your uncle, Fenton!" exclaimed the lad on whose word the others seemed to depend a great deal. "I've heard nothing but your uncle, your uncle, ever since you came here. Give us something new."

"That's all right, Fred Langridge, but my uncle----"

"There you go again!" interrupted Fred. "I guess I know what the custom is, as well as your uncle. He hasn't been here in fifteen years."

"I know that, but he says----"

"Say, if you speak uncle again, I'll land you one on the jaw, and that'll keep you quiet for a while." The words, in spite of their aggressiveness, were good-natured enough, and were spoken with a smile.

Ford Fenton, who seldom took part in any conversation about college sports or frolics without mentioning his relative, who had been a well-known coach at Randall, looked first surprised, then hurt, but as he saw that the sympathies of his companion freshmen were with Langridge, he concluded to make the best of it.

"I guess I know what the customs are here," repeated the well-dressed lad. "Didn't I get turned down at the exams, and ain't I putting in my second year as freshman? I helped get the clapper last year, and I'll help again this term. But I know one thing, Fenton, and that's not two."

"What's that?" eagerly asked the youth who had boasted of his uncle.

"That's this: You may not get the clapper, but you'll get something else."

"Why, what's the matter?"

For answer Langridge silently pointed to the gay hatband of the other.

"Take it off--take it off," he said. "Don't you know it's against the sacred customs of Randall College for a freshman to wear the colors on his hat until after the flagpole rush? Don't you know it, I ask?"

"Yes, I heard something about it."

"Better strip it off, then," went on Langridge. "Here come Morse and Denfield, a couple of sc.r.a.ppy sophs. They'll have it off you before you can say 'all Gaul is divided into three parts,' which you slumped on in Latin to-day."

Fenton looked up, and saw approaching the group of freshmen which included himself, two tall lads, who walked along with the swagger that betokened their second year at college. The hand of Fenton went to his hat, to take off the offending band, but he was too late. The soph.o.m.ores had seen it. They turned quickly and strode over to the group of first years.

"Would you look at that, Morse!" called Denfield in simulated wrath.

"I should say so," came the answer. "The nerve of him! Hi, fresh, what are you doing with that hatband?"

Then Fenton did something totally opposed to the spirit of Randall College. He, a freshman, dared to talk back to a soph.o.m.ore.

"I'm wearing it," replied he pertly. "Does it look as if I was playing ping-pong with it?"

The soph.o.m.ores could hardly believe their ears. There was no imitation in the surprise that showed on their faces.

"For the love of Mike! Listen to him!" gasped Morse. "Grab him, Denfield!

Wow! But things are coming to a pretty pa.s.s when a fresh talks like that the first week. Look out now, youngster, you're going to get a little lesson in how to behave to your betters."

The two soph.o.m.ores reached out their hands to grab Fenton. He made a spring to get behind a protecting wall of his comrades, and for a moment it looked as if the second year lads would be bested, for there were at least fifteen freshmen. But Langridge knew better than to let his friends get into trouble that way.

"Let 'em have him," he advised in a low voice. "It's the custom, and he knew it. He deserves it all."

Thereupon the freshmen divided, and offered no opposition to the twain, who gathered in their man. Morse s.n.a.t.c.hed off the hat with the offending band, and, while Denfield held the struggling Fenton, ripped off the ribbon. Then with his knife Morse began cutting the hat to pieces.

"Here, quit that!" yelled Fenton. "That's a new hat!"

"Softly, softly, little one," counseled Denfield. "I pray thee speak softly."

Though Fenton struggled to escape, the other easily held him, and the freshman was forced to witness the destruction of his nice, new soft hat. Having thus, as he believed, wiped out the insult offered, Morse carefully folded the ribbon and placed it in his pocket.

"Maybe you'll get a chance to wear it--after the pole rush," he said calmly. "I don't believe you will, for we're going to wipe up the ground with you freshmen this term. But if you do, I'll give you back your ribbon--er--what's your name, freshman?"

"Fenton," answered the humiliated one.

"Fenton what?"

"Ford Fenton."

"Say 'Fenton, sir,'" counseled Langridge in the other's ear.

"Don't you know how to reply to a gentleman?" asked Denfield fiercely, shaking Fenton from a neckhold he had. "Say sir, when you speak to a soph."

"Sir!" cried Fenton, for the grip hurt him.

"That's better. Now remember, no more ribbons until after the pole rush, and maybe not then. This to all you freshies," added Morse.

"Oh, we know that," put in Langridge. "But we'll all be wearing them after next week, and we'll be wearing something else, too."

"Nixy on the clapper, old chap!" called Denfield. "We won't stand for that."

"We'll see," responded Langridge. "All is not gold that doesn't come out in the wash."

"Ha! He speaks in parables!" cried Morse. "Well done, old chap! But come on, Denfield. I've got a date."

The youth holding Fenton gave him a sudden turn and twist that sent him spinning to the ground, and as he picked himself up the two soph.o.m.ores walked off, as dignified as senators.

"Confound them!" muttered Fenton as he brushed the dust off his clothes.

"I've a good mind to----"

"Easy, now," advised Langridge. "They're sophs, you know. Go easy!"