The Rival Pitchers Part 46

"Will you resign in my favor?" he asked. "I know it's a big request, but will you, Parsons?"

Tom did not know what to answer.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

THE FINAL CONTEST

Langridge stood before his rival, waiting. It was quiet in the little room, so quiet that the ticking of the alarm clock sounded loud. Outside could be heard the tramp of feet in the corridor, students going to and fro. Langridge glanced nervously at the door. He was plainly afraid lest some one should enter and find him there.

It was a hard problem for Tom to solve. The appeal of the lad who had done much to injure him moved him strongly. He knew what it would mean to Langridge not to pitch--that he would be out of athletics for the rest of his college course. If Tom gave way in his favor, it would mean his rehabilitation and for Tom only a temporary loss of prestige.

"Will you do it?" asked Langridge softly.

Tom did not answer. He paced up and down the room. What ought he to say?

He felt that he could afford to sacrifice his own interests--could even forego the high honor of pitching in what was the greatest game of the college year--for the sake of Langridge. If he did not and if Langridge went away disheartened, it might mean that he would plunge deeper into dissipation. Then there came to Tom the thought of the nine. Was it fair to the others, to the college?

Something told him it was not, that it was his duty to pitch--to do his best--to win for the sake of the college and the nine. Langridge might possibly do it, but it was doubtful. The former pitcher could not be sure of himself, sure that he had mastered his desire for stimulant.

Then Tom decided, not on his own account but for the sake of the team and the college.

"I can't do it, Langridge," he replied, and his voice showed the anguish he felt at the pain he inflicted.

"Then you'll pitch?" asked his rival.

"Yes, I feel that I must. The team depends on me, and--and I can't go back on them."

Langridge must have seen that Tom's answer was final, for without a word he turned and left the room.

Then Tom felt a wave of remorse sweep over him. After all, had he done right? Had he done the best thing? He was almost on the point of rushing after Langridge and telling him he could pitch in the final game, for the memory of his face haunted Tom. But when his hand was on the k.n.o.b of the door Sid entered.

"What's the matter?" asked Tom's chum, looking curiously at him.

"Nothing. Why?"

"You look as if you had been seeing ghosts."

"Well, I have--a sort of one," answered Tom with an uneasy laugh. "How'd you make out with the Latin?"

"Pretty punk, I guess. Bricktop says I've got to put in all my spare time boning. If I slump and can't play that last game, I'll--I'll----"

"Don't you dare slump!" cried Tom earnestly. "We can't put a new man on first at this late day. Don't you dare slump, Sid."

"Oh, I'll try not to," and Sid dumped himself down in the easy chair and with an air of dogged determination began devouring Latin verbs.

The 'varsity had had its final practice against the scrub, with Tom in the box for the first team. He was beginning to take it as a matter of course and acquiring that which he needed most--confidence in himself.

The scrub pitcher who had replaced him was good, but he was pretty well batted, while very few hits, and these only one-baggers, were secured off Tom.

"Boys," said Mr. Lighton two days before the game, "I think I can see our way clear to the Tonoka Lake League pennant. Now take it easy to-morrow, a little light exercise, be careful of what you eat, don't get nervous, go to bed early and sleep well. Then Sat.u.r.day afternoon we'll go to Fairview and bring back the banner."

"Three cheers for our coach!" called Kerr, and Mr. Lighton, veteran that he was, blushed with pleasure.

"I hope we win," remarked Ford Fenton as the team walked to the dressing-rooms. "My uncle says----"

But Kerr threw his big catching mitt with such good aim that it struck Fenton full in the face.

"Here--huh! ho! What'd you do that for?" he demanded.

"I didn't want you to wear out that uncle of yours," was the cool answer.

"It's getting warm weather now and you'd better can him so he'll keep until next year."

Ford scowled and then laughed, for he was good-natured in spite of his one failing.

Sid entered the room where Tom was late that afternoon with a worried look on his face.

"What's the matter?" asked Tom in alarm.

"Pitchfork has decided to have a special Latin exam to-morrow for my cla.s.s. Wow! I was counting on it going over, but it won't, and I've got to take it to-morrow."

"Well?"

"No, not well--bad. If I slump, do you know what it means?"

"You can't play against Fairview?"

"Exactly. Oh, Tom, I'm as nervous as a girl before her first big party.

Here, coach me a bit," and Tom, taking the books, gave Sid what help he could until they were both so tired and sleepy that Tom insisted that bed was the only place for them.

The news spread the next day. Sid was the only member of the team who was in the special Latin cla.s.s, and consequently the only one who had to go through the ordeal. When he went into recitation his mates on the team gathered in silent conclave on the diamond.

"If Sid slumps," spoke Captain Woodhouse, "I don't----"

"Don't talk about it," pleaded Bricktop Molloy.

"If he does, couldn't we play Langridge on first?" suggested Phil Clinton. "He used to practice there."

"Langridge is down and out," declared Kerr. "I don't know what's come over him. He won't speak to me any more. I guess he knows he's got to do a lot of studying to pa.s.s, and he must be tutoring with some grind. He keeps himself mighty scarce. I don't believe he'd play."

"No, we couldn't use him," said Kindlings. "It all depends on Sid. I wish the exam was over. It's like waiting for a jury to come in."

The whole team was on tenterhooks. No one felt like talking, and some one would start a topic only to witness it die a natural death. The members of the nine paced to and fro on the diamond. They were waiting for news from Sid. If he did not pa.s.s he could not play, and it practically meant a lowering of their chances for the pennant.

An hour went by. A few lads began coming from the recitation room where the examination was being held.

"Some of them have finished," commented Tom. "Let's ask 'em how Sid's making out."