Tom felt like laughing, but he restrained himself as he saw that Sid was really suffering. The first baseman crawled out of bed with many a groan and made wry faces. He limped across the room.
“How’s that?” he asked Tom. “Do I do it naturally?”
“Sure. It would deceive anybody.”
“I don’t want to deceive ’em. It’s gospel truth. I’m as lame as a sore horse. But I’ll go down.”
“Let me rub it,” suggested Tom, and he forgot part of his troubles in giving vigorous massage to Sid’s strained side.
“It feels better. Thanks, old man,” declared the hurt one as he began to dress.
“But you’re limping worse than ever.”
“Sure. No use losing any of the advantages of my limp. It may save me from a discredit in Latin. Oh, if you want to know how to limp come to your Uncle Dudley.”
Tom laughed and prepared for chapel. He himself was in no very jolly mood, however, for he could not help thinking of the problem connected with the discovery about Langridge. That it was a problem, and no small one, Tom was ready to admit. He felt himself in a peculiar position. He had spoken to the ’varsity pitcher and had been insulted. To let him go on in his course, breaking training and endangering the success of the nine, Tom felt would not be right. Yet if he spoke to the coach or captain about it there would be but one construction put upon his action.