The Rival Pitchers Part 18

Meanwhile the freshmen were not idle. In large numbers they had quietly gathered at the boathouse, in the dark shadows of which they remained in hiding, waiting for the opening of the singing and the consequent breaking up of the soph.o.m.ore body.

"What's the game?" asked Sid of Tom as those two and Phil Clinton made their way to the rendezvous. "Water pipes, fire or something brand new?"

"You can search me," was Tom's non-committal answer. "I hope it's something new. There doesn't seem to be any provisions for a bonfire and none of us swiped the fire hose."

"Langridge and his committee have it in charge," said Phil. "There's some secrecy about it, and very properly, too. Last year, I understand, it leaked out and the fun was spoiled."

Tom did not reply, but he wondered what use Langridge was going to make of the wire.

"They ought to start soon now," whispered Phil. "There's a good crowd of them there."

"Yes, and they've got scouts out all around," added Sid as he and his chums saw a number of shadowy figures patroling the stretch around the pavilion. "They're not going to be caught unawares."

"I don't see how we're going to break 'em up," remarked Phil.

"You wait and you'll see," exclaimed Langridge, who was moving about among the freshmen. "Say, Ed, you'd better go now and light the fuse."

"Is it an explosion?" asked Sid eagerly.

"Better be careful," cautioned Phil.

Tom's heart was thumping. He began to see the use to which the wire might be put, and he was afraid lest he had taken part in some dangerous prank. If Langridge had planned to explode a mine under the pavilion, some one might be injured.

"There'll be no explosion, only an explosion of wrath pretty soon,"

replied Langridge. "Go ahead, Kerr. Let 'em sing one song and they'll think we've called it off. Then let it go."

Kerr hurried off, keeping in the shadows. No sooner had he started than a movement was noticeable among the soph.o.m.ores, groups of whom could easily be seen now, as the moon was well up.

Then, on the stillness of the night, there broke a song. It was an old melody, sacred to Randall, and, in spite of being rendered by hilarious students, it was well done.

"That's not half bad," commented Phil. "They've got some good members for the glee club there."

"It's punk!" sneered Langridge. "Wait until we have a song fest. We'll make them feel sick!"

The melody continued, and coming as it did from the distance, while all about was the wondrous beauty of the moon, the effect produced on Tom Parsons was one of distinct pleasure. It was like being at some play.

"What a pity," he thought, "to spoil it all! What brutes we college fellows are--sometimes. I like to listen to that."

The song was softer now, and then it broke forth into a full chorus, well rendered.

"It's a shame to break it up," reasoned Tom. Then a cla.s.s feeling overcame him. After all, the soph.o.m.ores were their traditional enemies, and college tradition demanded that they disperse the gathering.

"Kerr ought to be there now," whispered Langridge. "The fuse will burn for two minutes."

"Fuse--fuse," repeated Phil. "It _must_ be an explosion. You want to be careful, Langridge."

"Oh, I know what I'm doing," was the answer. "But mind now, no squealing, whatever happens."

"You needn't say that," was Phil's quick retort. "We're Randall College freshmen," as if that was all that was necessary.

Kerr glided in from somewhere.

"Well?" asked Langridge.

"It's all right."

The soph.o.m.ores had started another song. They were about through the second verse when there came a series of sudden yells from the pavilion.

There were cries of pain, and Langridge, in the midst of the freshmen, called out:

"That's it! That's the stuff! Rah! rah! sophs! This time we break you up. Cheer, boys, cheer!"

The freshmen set up an exultant cry as it became evident that, in some way, the gleeful singing of the second-year lads had been stopped. There was an excited movement in the pavilion, yet the waiting freshmen could not see that anything had taken place.

Then came a cry--two exclamations--louder and more anguished than any that had preceded. There was a yell--a protesting yell--and then some one in the pavilion shouted:

"Cut it, fellows! The hand railing is charged with electricity!"

"Three cheers for the freshmen!" called Langridge, and the response came spontaneously, for his mates knew that they had triumphed over the soph.o.m.ores.

Suddenly above the confused cheering and shouting there came another cry.

"Help me, fellows! Oh, help--help!" screamed some one inside the pavilion.

There was a confused movement among the singers. Something seemed to have happened--something serious. The freshmen stopped their cheering and crowded up. A big soph.o.m.ore broke through the throng and dashed toward the college.

"What's the matter?" called Tom, and he had an uneasy feeling as he asked the question.

"Matter? It's you confounded freshmen, that's what's the matter! Gladdus and Battersby have been knocked unconscious."

"Unconscious?"

"Yes, by a powerful current of electricity. Get out of my way, fresh, or I'll knock you down! I'm going for a doctor. Some of you had better notify the proctor," he added to a few of his cla.s.smates who followed him on the run. "This is serious business."

"Come on, fellows," advised Langridge. "It's all right. We broke up the pavilion meeting all right."

"But maybe some one is seriously hurt," said Sid.

"Nonsense, it was only a current from the incandescent light lamps. It couldn't hurt them. Come on, take a sneak away from here. We've had our fun. And mind, everybody keep his mouth shut," and Langridge disappeared in the shadows of the trees, while ahead of him panted several soph.o.m.ores on their way to summon a physician.

CHAPTER XII

TOM DOESN'T TELL

Tom and Sid hurried along in the midst of the freshmen, Phil Clinton trailing after them. The three found themselves in a little group, comparatively alone.