The Rival Pitchers Part 30

"Now let's argue this thing out," he said. "I feel just like arguing, Parsons. Guess we'll call you 'dominie,' you're so fond of preaching.

Let's argue."

Tom tried to urge him to come on. It was getting late and only by running could they reach college and report before the prescribed hour, nine o'clock. But Langridge was obstinate and would not come. Tom did not want to leave him, for he had heard that Langridge did not stand any too well with the faculty, and a few more demerits would mean that he would have to give up athletics. So Tom determined that, if possible, he would get the foolish lad within bounds in time.

But it was a useless undertaking, and Tom heard nine strokes boom out on the chapel bell when they were some distance from college.

"That cooks our goose!" he exclaimed. "It doesn't so much matter for me, as it's the first time, but Langridge will suffer if he's caught in this plight."

He redoubled his persuasive powers and by dint of much talk at length induced Langridge to get up and come on. But it was half-past nine now and it was twenty minutes to ten, when, with his arm linked in that of the lad he was trying to save in spite of himself, Tom walked up the campus to get to the dormitory.

The watchman opened the door at his knock. Langridge had slipped behind Tom and stood in the deep shadow.

"After hours," said the man simply. "You will report to the proctor to-morrow morning, Mr. Parsons."

"Yes," replied Tom simply. Langridge was moving uneasily about in the shadows on the stone steps.

"Any one with you, Mr. Parsons?"

"Well--er--that is----"

The watchman started to go out, thinking to catch several students. At that instant Langridge, with a cunning evidently born of long experience, circled around Tom on the opposite side to that on which the watchman stood and darted down a small areaway that led to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"Ha! trying to hide!" exclaimed the guardian of the door. "I'll find out who you are!"

In the darkness he went down into the areaway. A moment later Langridge had roughly upset him there, and before the man could gain his feet, the pitcher had sprinted up the steps and into the open door of the dormitory and thence along the corridor to his room. The watchman had not had a glimpse of his face.

The man came panting up the steps.

"Who--who was that with you, Mr. Parsons?" he demanded sternly as he rubbed his bruised s.h.i.+ns.

Tom took a sudden resolve. There might be a chance for Langridge to escape.

"I'm not going to tell," he said firmly but respectfully.

"Very well," he replied. "You must report to Mr. Zane in the morning.

I'll inform him of this outrage. He'll make you tell who was with you."

"I don't believe he will," thought Tom as he went to his room.

CHAPTER XXI

ON THE GRILL

"Well, what's up?" asked Sid as Tom came in. "You're going the pace, aren't you, old man?" and he looked anxiously at his chum, whose face was flushed from the experience through which he had just gone.

"I got in late," admitted Tom.

"Get caught?" asked Sid, as if that was all that mattered.

"Yep, but that's not the worst of it."

"What? You don't mean to say you've been caught? Well, of all things.

You, one of the 'grinds,' falling a victim."

"It wasn't altogether my fault."

"How's that?"

Tom considered for a moment. Would it be violating the ethical honor of a college boy if he told his chum? Would it be contrary to the spirit of Randall? Tom thought not, merely to let Sid know what had happened. For it would go no further, and, as a matter of fact, several students had seen Tom and Langridge leave town together. Besides, Tom wanted advice.

So he told his chum everything from the time of meeting with the sporty students until the sensational retreat of Langridge to his room.

"Now, what would you do?" asked Tom. "Keep still and take what's coming or tell the proctor and use that as an excuse for coming in late? It really wasn't my fault."

Sid scratched his head. It was a new problem for him. He saw the point Tom made, that by informing on a fellow student, Tom would be held blameless, as indeed he had a right to be. Why should Tom suffer for another's fault? That came plainly to Sid. Yet he only hesitated a moment before answering.

"Of course you can't squeal," he said simply.

"That's what I thought," agreed Tom, as if that was all there was to it.

"I'll have to take what's coming, I s'pose."

"Maybe proc. won't be hard on you. You've got a good record."

"Fairly. Anyhow, I hope he doesn't cut me out from baseball. Well, I'm going to bed. I wonder if they'll find out about Langridge? If the watchman thought to make a tour of the rooms, he'd discover that he just got in."

"He'll not do that. Too many of 'em. Besides, trust Langridge for knowing how to take care of himself. He's getting reckless, though."

"Of course you won't say anything to any of the fellows about him playing cards and smoking," went on Tom, but he did not mention the drinking episode, though probably Sid guessed.

"Of course not," came the prompt answer, "but it's not fair to the rest of the team. However, I'm not going to make a holler. Hope you come out of it all right. By-by."

"Um," grunted Tom, for he was rubbing some of the liniment on his arm and the pungent fumes made him keep his eyes and mouth shut.

Sid tumbled into bed, leaving Tom to put out the light, and there was no further talk. Tom undressed slowly. He was in no mood for sleep, for he was much upset over the incident of the night, and he was not a little anxious about the next day and his prospective visit to the proctor. For the first time that he noticed it, the ticking of the alarm clock annoyed him, the fussy, quick strokes making him say over and over again the words of a silly little rhyme as one sometimes, riding in a railroad train, fits to the click of the wheels over the rail joints some bit of doggerel that will not be ousted.

"I must be getting nervous," thought Tom. "Wonder if I'm over-training?"

This idea gave him such an alarm that it served to change the current of his thoughts, and before he knew it he had fallen asleep over a half-formed resolution to undertake a different sort of gymnasium exercise for a few days.

Tom's first visit the next morning after chapel was, as the rules required in such cases, to Proctor Zane.

"Well?" inquired that functionary in no pleasant voice as Tom stood before him, for there had been some skylarking in the college the previous night and the proctor had been unable to catch the offenders.

"What is it now, Parsons?"

He spoke as though Tom was an habitual offender when, as a matter of fact, though the lad had taken his part in pranks, it was only the second time he had been "on the grill," as the process was termed.