"Fellows," shouted Butch, despite Hicks' protest, rising to his feet on the
roof of the "jit."—"T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., today won the game and the
Championship! Listen—"
The vast crowd of erstwhile clamorous youths stood spellbound, as Captain
Butch Brewster, in graphic sentences, described the game—Don Carterson's
failure, Ichabod's sensational pitching, Hicks' errors, and—the wonderful
manner in which the futile youth had won the Championship! As little Skeet
Wigglesworth and the five substitutes, who had returned that afternoon, had
spread the story of Hicks' bonehead play, old Bannister had turned out to
ridicule and jeer good-naturedly the sunny youth, but now they learned that
Hicks had been forced by his own mistake into the Big Game, and had won it!
Of course, his comrades knew it had been through no ability of his, but the
knowledge that he had been knocked senseless by Forsythe's great speed, and
had suffered so that his college might score, thrilled them.
"What's the matter with Hicks?" thundered Thor, he who at one time would
have called this riot foolishness, and forgetting that the nine had just
chanted the response to this query.
"He's all right!" chorused the collegians, in ecstasy.
"Who's all right?" demanded John Thorwald, his blond head towering over
those of his comrades. To him, now, there was nothing silly about this
performance!
"Hicks! Hicks! Hicks!" came the shout, and the band fanfared, while the
exultant collegians shouted, sang, whistled, and created an indescribable
tumult with their noise-making devices. For five minutes the ear-splitting
din continued, a wonderful tribute to the lovable, popular youth, and then
it stilled so suddenly that the result was startling, for—T. Haviland
Hicks, Jr., swaying on his feet arose, and stood on the roof of the "jit."
With that heart-warming Cheshire cat grin on his cherubic countenance, the
irrepressible Hicks seized a Louisville Slugger, assumed a Home-Run Baker
batting pose, and shouted to his breathlessly waiting comrades:
"Fellows, I vowed I would win that baseball game and the Championship for
my Alma Mater by my headwork! With the bases full, and the score a tie, the
Ballard pitcher hit me in the head with the ball, forcing in the run that
won for old Ballard—now, if that wasn't headwork—"
BANNISTER GIVES HICKS A SURPRISE PARTY