“No, they come here.”
“Well, that’s something in our favor. We’ll have Bean Perkins and the other shouters with us. We’ve just got to win, Tom!”
“I know it, but——”
“There are no ‘buts,’ old man,” declared the genial first baseman. “Just remember that the girls will be on hand, and they mustn’t see us go down to defeat twice to a co-ed college.”
“No, of course not,” and Tom turned in.
The following days were devoted to practice—practice harder than any yet that term, for Tom and the coach worked the men every spare hour they could devote to the diamond, outside of lecture and study hours. Pete Backus improved wonderfully. He was not Sid’s equal, but the best substitute that could be found.
“Oh, Sid, but I wish you were going to play,” said Tom, with a little sigh, the night before the Fairview game.
“So do I,” came in sorrowful tones from the second baseman. “But—Oh, well, what’s the use of talking?” and he tried to laugh it off, but it was a poor attempt.
Fairview was on hand early with a crowd of “rooters” and supporters, both young men and maidens, the next afternoon, when the Randall team fairly leaped out on the diamond.
“I wonder if Ruth is here?” said Phil, as he stopped a particularly “hot” ball Tom threw.