The Rival Pitchers Part 38

"Nay, nay, kind sir," retorted Sid, with a shake of his head.

"Nay nay what?" demanded Dutch indignantly.

"No tricks to-night," went on Sid. "We're two virtuous young men. We belong to the ancient and honorable order of _infra digs_ to-night, Dutch. Too near the exams. Thus did I exclaim 'nay, nay, kind sir.' We are not to be tempted, nay, even if it were to take mine ancient enemy, Pitchfork, and drop him into the lake; eh, Tom?"

"Yes. I can't afford to take any chances. Twice bitten once shy, or words to that effect, you know. I, too, am delving into the hidden paths that lead to the spring of which the poet doth sing."

"Say, you two give me a sore feeling in the cranium!" exclaimed Dutch as he sank into the easy chair with force enough almost to disrupt it.

"Who's asking you to play any tricks?"

"Aren't you?"

"No."

"_Fiat just.i.tia, ruat coelum!_" exclaimed Tom, with mock heroics. "We have done you an injustice, most n.o.ble Dutchman. Say on, and we will hear thee."

"I've a good notion not to," said Housenlager a bit sulkily. "Here I come in to tell you fellows a piece of news, and I find you boning away, and when I start to talk you spout Latin mottoes at me. I've a good notion to dig out."

"Stay! Stay, dear friend!" cried Tom, laughing. "There, we'll chuck studying for to-night, eh, Sid?"

"Sure. I'm sick of it."

"Now, say on," invited Tom.

Somewhat mollified, Dutch took an easier position in the creaking chair, thereby raising a cloud of dust, and remarked:

"Well, the freshman dinner will come off to-morrow night. It's just been decided."

"Honest?" cried Sid.

"Sure. Our committee has everything in shape, and we'll fool the sophs this time. Ford Fenton and I have been going around notifying the fellows. You see, we had to keep it quiet, because those sophs will put it on the blink if they can."

"Sure they will," agreed Tom. "Where is it to be----"

He stopped suddenly, for there was the sound of footsteps in the hall outside.

"Some one is spying," whispered Sid. Softly he opened the door and then he laughed. "It's Fenton," he said as the other entered.

"All through?" asked Dutch of his partner.

"Yes. I don't believe the sophs suspect. A few years ago, when the freshmen had a dinner, the sophs ate it all up, and my uncle says----"

Tom significantly reached for a heavy book, and Ford, with a disappointed look, stopped his reminiscence.

"It's to be in Cardigan Hall, in town," explained Dutch, "and we'll start from here in a----"

He paused in a listening att.i.tude and tiptoed over to the door. Throwing the portal open suddenly, he darted into the hall, the others crowding up close to see what was going on.

"Some one was out there," declared Dutch as he came back, "but I couldn't catch him. Maybe it was only one of our boys, though. Now I'll tell you the plans," and he proceeded to go into them into detail, telling Tom and Sid where to join the other freshmen the next night, in order to steal away to Haddonfield and hold their banquet undisturbed by the soph.o.m.ores.

Tom and Sid promised to be on hand, and the two members of the committee departed, Ford Fenton being unable to tell what it was his uncle had said. As Tom saw their guests to the door, something bright and s.h.i.+ning in the hall attracted his attention.

"It's a matchbox," he remarked as he picked it up. "It's got initials on, too."

"What are they?"

"Hum--look like H. E. G."

"Horace E. Gladdus," said Sid. "I wonder if he was sneaking around here trying to catch on about the dinner?"

CHAPTER XXVII

TOM IS KIDNAPPED

For a moment Tom looked at Sid. The same thought was in both their minds.

"Had we better tell Dutch?" asked Tom.

"It wouldn't be a bad plan."

"All right, I'll let him know. If Gladdus and his crowd find out our plans they'll spoil 'em."

So Tom hastened after Dutch Housenlager and related the finding of the matchbox and the suspicion engendered by it--that Gladdus had been listening in the hall.

"All right," remarked Dutch. "We'll change our plans a bit. I'll see you later."

Tom and Sid did not feel like resuming their studies after what had happened. Instead they sat talking of the prospective dinner, Sid stretched lazily at full length on the sofa, while Tom luxuriously sprawled in the easy chair.

"I tell you what it is, old man," said Sid, "it's mighty comfortable here, don't you think?"

"It sure is."

"And to think that next term we'll have to go into the west dormitory,"

went on Sid. "We'll be bloomin' sophs then. At least you will."

"That's very nice of you to say so, but what about yourself?"

"I'm not so sure," and Sid spoke dubiously. "That confounded Latin will be the death of me. I tell you what it is. I was never cut out for a cla.s.sical scholar. Now, if they had a course of what to do on first base, I'd be able to master it in, say, a four years' stretch. But I'm afraid I'll go the way of our mutual acquaintance Langridge, and spend two years as a freshman, at which rate I'll be eight years getting through college."

"Oh, I hope not. You stand better than Langridge. He's smart--not that you aren't--but he doesn't get down to it. It's just like his baseball practice, if he would only----"

Then Tom stopped. He didn't want to talk about the player whom he was trying to supplant on the nine. "Well," he finished, "I guess I'll turn in. We'll have to see Dutch in the morning and learn what the new plans are."

Housenlager and his fellow members of the freshman dinner committee found it advisable to make a change after what Sid and Tom had discovered.