“Wow! You old coffee percolator!” shouted Sid. “Why didn’t you dish that out to us first, instead of letting us think you made an impression simply by the aid of your manly figure? So you knew her of old. Ha! ha! Likewise ho! ho! I begin to smell a concealed rodent in the woodpile.”
“You didn’t give me a chance,” was Tom’s quiet answer, and then he fell to talking about the game until he and Sid got to their room. Later there were bonfires and fun galore in honor of the victory.
Coach Lighton gave the nine no rest. Early the next Monday afternoon, as soon as lessons were over, he had them out on the diamond playing against the scrub. Somewhat to the surprise of members of the second team as well as that of the ’varsity, Tom Parsons struck out an unusual number of players.
“You fellows will have to bat better than this,” growled Langridge when practice was over and the ’varsity game had been saved merely by a fumble on the part of a scrub fielder. “This won’t do.”
“Physician, heal thyself,” quoted Captain Woodhouse with a grim smile. “You struck out twice, Langridge.”
“I know it, but batting isn’t my best specialty and it is for some of you fellows.”
“True enough,” admitted Kindlings gravely, “and we must brace up a bit for the game next Saturday with Fairview.”
“The captain is right, boys,” added the coach. “You must do some hard hitting.”
“Or else Tom Parsons mustn’t pitch so well,” said Phil Clinton in a low voice to Sid. “How about it?”