“Poor old Grasshopper,” commented Dutch as he and Tom strolled along the campus, leaving the jumper still at his practice. “Poor old Grasshopper! He’ll never make the track team.”
The next few days saw Tom putting in all his spare time practicing curves under the watchful eye of Mr. Lighton. The ’varsity played with the scrub and narrowly escaped a good drubbing. Langridge seemed to be asleep part of the time and issued a number of walking papers. It was after the contest, which the regulars had pulled out of the fire with rather scorched fingers, that the coach called Captain Woodhouse and Langridge to him.
“I rather think we’d better make a little shift,” he said.
“In what way?” asked Langridge quickly.
“Well, I think we ought to name Parsons as substitute pitcher on the ’varsity. He’s been doing excellent work, fully equal to yours, Langridge. Of course he’s a little uncertain yet, but one big game would take that out of him. I’d like to see him pitch at least part of the game against Boxer next week.”
“Does that mean you’re dissatisfied with me?” asked Langridge quickly, and his face flushed.
“Not necessarily. But I think it rather risky not to provide better than we have for a substitute pitcher. Evert is available, of course, but as he is a junior his studies are such that he can’t devote the necessary time to practice. Parsons ought to be named.”
“Do you demand that in your official capacity as coach, Mr. Lighton?” asked Kindlings. “Because if you do, I’ll agree to it at once.”
“No, I merely make that suggestion to you.”
The captain looked at the manager. Langridge stood with a supercilious smile on his face.