How it came about Sid, of course, would never tell. It was too new and too delightful an experience for him-to actually be paying attentions to some girl-to make it possible to discuss the matter with his chums. Sufficient to say that in the course of two weeks more there was another photograph in the room of the inseparables.

Baseball matters began to occupy more and more attention at Randall. The team was being whipped into shape, and between Tom, Ed Kerr and the coach the lads were beginning to get rid of the uncertainty engendered by a winter of comparative idleness.

"Have you arranged any games yet?" asked Tom of Ed one afternoon, following some sharp practice on the diamond.

"We play Boxer Hall next week," answered the manager. "And I do hope we win. It means so much at the beginning of the season. How is the team, do you think?"

"Do you mean ours or theirs?"

"Ours, of course."

"Fine, I should say," replied Tom.

"You know who'll pitch against you when we play Boxer, I dare say," remarked Mr. Leighton, who had joined Tom and Ed.

"No. Who?"

"Your old enemy, Langridge. He's displaced Dave Ogden, who twirled for them last season. But you're not frightened, are you?"

"Not a bit of it! If there's anything that will make our fellows play fierce ball it's to know that Langridge-the fellow who almost threw our football team-is going to play against them. I couldn't ask a better tonic. Will they play on our grounds?"

"No, we've got to go there. But don't let that worry you."

There was sharp practice for the next few days, and Tom and his chums were put through "a course of sprouts" to quote Holly Cross. They did some ragged work, under the eagle eye of the coach, and things began to look bad, but it was only the last remnant of staleness disappearing, for the day before the game there was exhibited a noticeable stiffness, and a confidence that augured well for Randall.

"The batting still leaves something to be desired," remarked Mr. Leighton, as practice was over for the day. "I have great hopes of Sid Henderson, though."

"Yes, if--" began Tom.

"If what?" asked the coach quickly.

"If he doesn't go back on himself," finished the pitcher, but that was not what he had intended to say. He was thinking of Sid's queer actions of late-wondering what they portended, and what was the meaning of his chum's odd absences, for, only the night previous, Sid had gone out, following the receipt of a note, and had come in late, smelling vilely of tobacco. Fortunately he had escaped detection by the proctor, but he offered no explanation, and his manner was disturbed, and not like his usual one.

As for Sid, well might his chums be puzzled about him. He seemed totally to have changed, not only in manner but in his attitude toward Tom and Phil. There was a new look on his face. Several times, of late, since his acquaintance with Miss Harrison, and the reconciliation following his little "de trop faux pas," as Tom termed it, Sid had been caught day dreaming. Phil or Tom would look up from their studying to see Sid, with a book falling idly from his hands, gazing vacantly into a corner of the room, or looking abstractedly at his side of the wall space, as though calculating just where would be the best spot for a certain girl's picture.

It was a most enthralling occupation for Sid-this day dreaming. It was a new experience-a deliciously tender and sweet one-for no young man can be any the worse for thinking and dreaming of a fine-charactered girl, albeit one who is amazingly pretty; in fact he is the better for it. In Sid's case his infatuation had come so suddenly that it was overwhelming. In the past he had either been shy with girls, or had not cared enough for them to be more than decently polite. But now everything was different. Though he had seen her but a few times, he could call to mind instantly the very way in which she turned her head when she addressed him. He could see the slight lifting of the eyebrows as she asked a question, the sparkle that came into the blue eyes, that held a hint of mischief. He could hear her rippling laugh, and he knew in what a tantalizing way a certain ringlet escaped from the coils of her hair, and fell upon her neck.

Often in class the lecturer would suddenly call his name, and Sid would start, for he had sent his thoughts afar, and it required a sort of wireless message to bring them back.

The day of the Boxer game could not have been better. There had been a slight shower in the night, but only sufficient to lay the dust, and it was just cool enough to be delightful. The Randall players and their supporters, including a crowd of enthusiastic "rooters," a number of substitutes and a mascot, in the shape of a puppy, fantastically attired, made the trip to Boxer Hall in special trolleys, hired stage coaches and some automobiles. Bert Bascome owned an automobile, and he made much of himself in consequence.

There was a big crowd in the grand stands when the Randall players arrived, and they were received with cheers, for the sporting spirit between the two colleges was a generous one.

"My, what a lot of girls!" remarked Tom to Sid and Phil, as the three chums looked over toward the seats, which were a riot of color.

"Yes, all the Fairview students are here to-day," spoke Phil. "Ruth said she and Miss Tyler were coming."

"I wonder if--" began Sid, and then he stopped, blushing like a girl.

"Yes, Miss Harrison is coming with them," replied Phil, with a laugh. "We'll look 'em up after the game-if we win."

"Why not, if we lose?" asked Sid quickly.

"I haven't the nerve, if we let Boxer Hall take the first game of the season from us," was the reply.

Fast and snappy practice began, and it was somewhat of a revelation to the Randall players to note the quick work on the part of their rivals. In getting around the bases, batting out flies, getting their fingers on high balls and low grounders, Boxer Hall seemed to have improved very much over last year.

"We've got our work cut out for us," remarked Phil in a low voice to his two chums. "Say, Langridge has some speed, too. Look at that!"

The new pitcher of Boxer Hall was throwing to Stoddard, the catcher, and the balls landed in the pocket of the big mitt with a vicious thud.

"Don't worry. Sid, here, will knock out a couple of home runs," said Tom. "Won't you, Sid?"

"I only hope I don't fan the air. How are his curves?"

"Pretty good, for the first few innings," answered Tom. "After that you can find 'em easy enough. He wears down-at least he did last year."

The practice came to an end. The preliminaries were arranged, and, with the privilege of the home team coming last to the bat, Randall went in the initial inning. The two teams were made up as follows:

RANDALL COLLEGE

Sid Henderson, second base.

William Housenlager, catcher.

Phil Clinton, first base.

Tom Parsons, pitcher.

Dan Woodhouse, third base.

Jerry Jackson, right field.

Bob Molloy, shortstop.

Joe Jackson, left field.

Holman Cross, center field.

BOXER HALL

Lynn Ralling, second base.

Hugh McGherity, right field.

Roy Conklin, left field.

Arthur Flood, center field.

George Stoddard, catcher.

Pinkerton Davenport, first base.

Fred Langridge, pitcher.

Bert Hutchin, third base.

Sam Burton, shortstop.

"Now, Sid, show 'em what you can do," advised Mr. Leighton, as Sid selected a bat, and walked up to the plate. He faced Langridge, and noted the grim and almost angry look in the eyes of the former pitcher on the Randall 'varsity.

"Make him give you a nice one," called Bean Perkins, who was ready to shout for victory.

A ball came whizzing toward Sid, and so sure was he that he was going to be hit that he dodged back, but he was surprised when it neatly curved out, went over the plate, and the umpire called:

"Strike One!"

There was a howl of protest on the part of the Randall sympathizers, but it died away when Mr. Leighton held up a warning hand.

Sid struck viciously at the next ball, and felt a thrill of joy as he felt the impact, but, as he rushed away toward first he heard the umpire's call of "Foul; strike!" and he came back.

"Wait for a good one," counseled Phil, in a low voice. "Make him give you a pretty one."

Langridge sent in another swift curve and Sid struck at it. Another foul resulted, and he began to wonder what he was up against. The next attempt was a ball, for Langridge threw away out, but Sid saw coming a moment later, what he thought would make at least a pretty one-bagger. He swung viciously at it, but missed it clean, and walked to the bench somewhat chagrined.

Dutch Housenlager, with a smile of confidence, walked up next. He was cool, and Langridge, having struck out Sid, seemed to lose some of his anger. He delivered a good ball-an in-shoot-and Dutch caught it on the end of his bat. It seemed to promise well, but Roy Conklin, out on left field was right under it, and Dutch ingloriously came back from first.

"Now, Phil, line one out!" pleaded Tom, as his chum selected his bat, and Phil struck at the first ball, sending a hot liner right past the shortstop.

Phil got to first, and stole second when Tom came up, making it only by a close margin.

"A home run, Tom," begged the coach, and Tom nodded with a grim smile on his face. But alas for hopes! He knocked a fly, which the right fielder got without much difficulty, and the first half of the initial inning was over with a goose-egg in the space devoted to Randall.

"Never mind, we're finding him," consoled Tom, as he walked to his box.

Lynn Ralling was up first for Boxer Hall, and Tom resolved to strike him out, if it was at all possible. It was his first pitching in a league game that season, and he was a trifle nervous. Still he held himself well in hand, and, though the first two attempts were called "balls" the next three went down as strikes. Ralling refused to swing on two of them, but the last one seemed to him as just right, but Tom had the satisfaction of striking him out. McGherity, the next man up, was a notoriously heavy hitter, and Tom purposely gave him a pass to first. He struck out Roy Conklin, but something went wrong with the next man, Arthur Flood, who knocked a two-bagger. Then George Stoddard got to first on a swift grounder, that, somehow rolled through the legs of Bricktop, much to that hero's disgust. There was some good playing the rest of the inning, George being caught napping on second, and it ended with two runs in favor of Boxer Hall.

"We've got to wake up!" decided Mr. Leighton grimly. "Put a little more ginger into it, boys!"

"What's the matter with our team?" Bean Perkins demanded to know in his loudest voice.

"It's all right," was the response, from scores of throats.

"Now for the 'Conquer or Die' song," called Bean, and as Dan Woodhouse went up to the bat in the beginning of the second inning the strains of "Aut vincere aut mori," welled out over the diamond. But the inspiring melody that, more than once had been the means of inspiring a faint-hearted team to victory, seemed to be of no effect now. Not a man got further than second, and another goose egg went up to the credit of Randall. But a similar dose was served to Boxer in the same inning, and when Randall opened the third with Holly Cross at the bat, there was much wonder, and not a little disappointment. What would Holly do? He soon showed by knocking a two bagger, but, alas for what followed. Though he managed to steal to third, Langridge pitched so well that those who followed were struck out, and there was another white circle.

It was duplicated for Boxer Hall, however, and there began to be talk of a "pitchers' battle."

"We'll find Langridge this inning," prophesied Tom, and it was partly justified, for one run came in, which sent the grand stand where the Randallites were gathered wild with delight.

"Now, fellows, give 'em that song-'We're going to wallop you now,'" called Bean, and there arose a riot of "melody." In the fifth inning neither side scored, and then came the turn of Captain Tom's men again. They delighted their supporters by pulling down two runs, and making the score three to two in their favor. Then, when Boxer Hall came up for their inning, they hammered out two runs, which sent Randall stock down to zero again with the score of four to three against them.

The seventh and eighth innings saw big circles chalked up in the frames of both teams, though Tom and his men worked hard to bring in at least another run. But it was not to be.

"Now, fellows, it's our last chance," remarked the coach, as Holly Cross stepped up in the ninth, his teeth fairly gritting together. "Two runs to win-that is if we hold 'em down when they come up."

"I'll do that part," guaranteed Tom grimly.

From the grand stands there were shouts and yells of encouragement-and otherwise. Bean led his cohorts in, "It's Your Last Chance, Boys-Soak It!" a Randall classic of the diamond. Well, Holly did "soak" it, with the result that he knocked the prettiest three-bagger seen in many a day. Then came Sid's turn. Two strikes were called on him, and then came a foul.

"I'm afraid he's going to fan," whispered Tom to the coach.

"Watch him," advised Mr. Leighton.

There was a reassuring "thump" as the next ball reached Sid. Away sailed the sphere right over the center fielder's head.

"It's a beaut! It's a beaut! Run! Run! Run!" yelled the frenzied students. Holly was legging it in from third and my! how Sid was running! Low down, and like the wind! The frantic center fielder was racing for the ball amid the daisies. On and on came Sid!

"A home run! A home run!" screamed Tom and his players, jumping up and down and over the bench in their excitement. Around the bases came Sid, following Holly. The second baseman swung around third and started for home, but the ball was on the way. Would he beat it?

He did, by about a second, rushing in almost exhausted, over the plate which Holly had just crossed.

"Wow! Wow! Wow!" cried Sid's and Holly's mates. "That wins the game!" and they hugged Sid and his chum. "Two Runs!"

"The game is not won yet," said the coach, more soberly. "We need more runs."

But they couldn't get them. There was a sudden improvement on the part of Langridge, who had begun to weaken, and he struck out the next two men, the third getting out on a bingle. But the score was five to four in favor of Randall, and if Tom could hold them down, and strike out three men, the game was theirs. Could he do it?

There was a great strain on everyone as the Randall team went out to the field. From the grand stand came softly the "Conquer or Die" song, and Tom felt a sense of moisture in his eyes.

"I'll strike 'em out!" he muttered.

How he did it is college history to this day. Calmly he faced the first man, and delivered a ball.

"Strike!" howled the umpire, and this time it was Boxer Hall that sent up a groan of protest. But it was silenced, and in two more balls delivered over the plate with faultless precision, but with puzzling curves, Tom had one down.

"Only two more," called Phil to him encouragingly.

Tom nodded. How he did pitch! The balls sounded like guns when they hit Dutch Housenlager's big mitt, but he held them.

"Three strikes-batter out!" yelled the umpire, and the second man threw down his stick and walked disgustedly to the bench.

George Stoddard was up next. Tom was afraid of him. He delivered a puzzling slow drop, but Stoddard got under it for a foul.

Tom breathed a bit easier. Two more chances. He sent one of his best out shoots, and Stoddard foolishly bit at it. The ball just grazed the bat, and bounded up into the air. Dutch made a desperate effort for it.

"Can't get it!" yelled the crowd, as it went over the back grand stand.

The umpire threw Tom a new ball. He hated to use it, as the other seemed just right. But the one that had gone over the stand was slow in being returned. Dutch signalled for another drop, but Tom shook his head. He wanted to try a delicate in-curve.

It seemed that the players and spectators were scarcely breathing-it was the critical point of the game, yet with two down Boxer Hall could scarcely hope to win. Yet there was a chance. Tom delivered the ball. Stoddard swung at it with such force that he turned completely around. But the new, white ball was safe in the mitt of Dutch Housenlager. Stoddard had struck out-there were three down for Boxer in the ending of the ninth, and not a run. Randall had won-the score being five to four.

Then such a chorus of yells as went up! Even Bean Perkins could scarcely be heard.

"Wow! Wow! Wow!" cried Dutch, seizing Holly Cross around the waist, and doing a dance with him about the bench. "We did it!"

"Great work, boys!" cried the coach. "I congratulate you!"

"Three cheers for Randall!" proposed Pinkey Davenport for Boxer Hall, and the yells came with spontaneous enthusiasm.

"Three and a tiger for Boxer Hall!" yelled Tom, and his men nearly split their throats.

"Come on! Clean up, and then for some fun!" cried Phil. "We'll go hunt up the girls, as soon as we look decent again," he suggested to Tom and Sid, who nodded joyfully.

Langridge passed Tom.

"It's only one game," growled the defeated pitcher. "We'll do you fellows next time!"

"You'll have the chance," retorted Tom good naturedly.

A little later the victorious pitcher, and his two chums, having donned their street clothes, were strolling across the field toward a knot of girls.

* * *

Chapter 5 RANDALL AGAINST BOXER

You might like