“Well, maybe. I can’t be on edge all the while,” and the pitcher laughed nervously.
Tom, in the grandstand, was making his way down amid a bevy of pretty girls and wishing he had some one who would introduce him to them when he heard a voice call his name. He turned quickly and saw Madge Tyler in a bewilderingly pretty dress, her hair framing her face in a most bewitching manner, while her eyes were bright with the joy of youth and the fire thereof.
“Too bad, wasn’t it?” she asked sympathetically, holding out her hand to Tom. “I was so sorry for Mr. Langridge!”
“Why Langridge?” asked Tom quickly.
“Oh, well, because the pitcher seems to have to work so hard, and then to be defeated——”
“Yes, it was unpleasant—the defeat,” agreed Tom. “But are you going out?”
“Yes, I came over with friends to see the game, but I seem to have missed them in the crush.”
“Then let me be your escort back to Haddonfield?” asked Tom. “I’m rather by my lonesome, too.”
“Oh, thank you. I dare say——”