“Well,” began Tom slowly, “if you will excuse the privilege of a friend who has known you for some time, I would say that I don’t believe your people would like you to go with him.”
“Why, mamma knows his uncle, who is his guardian, and she says he is very nice—I mean the uncle,” and she laughed a little.
“I have no doubt of it. I only——”
But Tom did not say what he was going to, for just then Pinky Davenport, captain of the Boxers, knocked what Holly Cross described later as a “lalapoolassa” fly, which went clear over the center fielder’s head and netted a home run for the captain of the visitors.
What yelling and shouting there was then! It seemed to put new life into the opponents of Randall, if such was needed, for they began piling up the score until they were six runs in the lead.
Then Randall “took a brace,” encouraged by the yells of the “old grads” and others, and by the eighth inning had cut it down even. In the close of the eighth they held their opponents down to one run, making it necessary to gather in two to win the game, but with that it meant holding the visitors hitless in the last half of the final inning.
The first part of the program was carried out all right. By some phenomenal playing Randall managed to get the lead by one run. They would have had another but for a miscalculation on the part of Ed Kerr, who was caught napping between third and home, where he was run down and put out.
“Now, fellows, we have them on the hip!” exclaimed Captain Woodhouse as he called his players together for a little talk before the final struggle was made. “If we can hold them down this inning we have them. Langridge, it’s up to you!”
“I know it. But don’t worry, I’ll do it.”
It sounded well, and there was a determined look in the pitcher’s face, but his eyes were unnaturally bright. His pitching had been ragged during the last three innings and the sudden decline of the abilities of the Boxer players had done as much as anything to give Randall her chance.