CHAPTER VI
THE POLE RUSH
Tom managed to strike out the next man, but the third batter knocked atwo-bagger, and Kerr, who followed, sent a beautiful long fly to rightfield, where Jerry Jackson muffed it. There was wild delight on the partof Pete Backus and his men when they got in three runs before Tommanaged to strike out another player, retiring the side.
"Well, that's not so bad," spoke Bricktop, but there was some dubiousnessin his tone.
"My pitching was bum," acknowledged Tom, "but I'll do better nextinning."
"Of course you will, me lad," said Captain Molloy kindly. "It's a newground to you."
There was a confident air about Langridge when he took his position inthe box and it was somewhat justified when he struck out the first twomen in quick succession.
"He's doing better than I thought he would," said Sid.
"He's a good pitcher," admitted Tom honestly, for he saw that his rivalhad something that he himself lacked--a better control of the ball,though Tom could pitch a swifter curve.
Tom was third at the bat. Now a good pitcher is usually a notoriouslybad hitter. Tom proved an exception to the rule, though perhaps he hadnot developed into such a good pitcher yet that it applied in his case.He faced Langridge confidently and even smiled mockingly as a swift ballcame in. Tom was a good judge of it and saw that it was going wild, sohe did not attempt to strike it. His judgment was confirmed when theumpire sang out:
"Ball one!"
Langridge looked annoyed and sent in a swift one. Tom's bat met itsquarely and it went well over the center fielder's head.
"Go on! go on, me brave lad!" yelled Molloy, his brogue very pronounced."That's the stuff!"
"Take two bases! take two!" cried Phil.
"Make it three! make it three!" begged Sid, and three Tom made it, forhe was a swift runner, and the ball rolled provokingly away from thefielder who raced after it.
"Well, you can bat, anyway, me lad," observed Molloy as Tom came in on asafe hit made by Sid a little later.
"Does that mean I can't pitch?" asked Tom with a smile.
"Not a bit of it. It only accentuates it, so to speak. You're allright--_facile princeps_ as the old Romans have it--which, beinginterpreted, means you can come in and sit at our training table."
Tom's side only gathered in two runs, however, and from then on up tothe eighth inning the team Langridge was on held the lead, the score atthe beginning of the ninth inning being 10 to 8 in favor of Backus'men. That inning Tom and his chums rather went to pieces as regardedfielding, nor did Tom shine brilliantly in the box. He struck out twomen and then he seemed to lose control of the ball. The bases werefilled, two men knocking a one and two bagger respectively and anothergetting his walking papers. Then Tom got nervous, and just when heshould have held himself well in hand to keep the score down, he gaveanother man a chance to amble easily to first on four balls and forcedin a run.
There were cries of derision from the opposing players and an ominoussilence on the part of Captain Molloy and his men. The next man got aone-bagger and the player who followed him knocked a pop fly, whichMolloy, who was on third, missed. The inning ended with three more runsin favor of Langridge and his mates, making the score 13 to 8.
"Six runs to win and five to tie," murmured Molloy. "Can we do it,boys?"
"Sure," said Phil Clinton confidently. Phil always fought to the lastditch. But it was not to be. Tom made one run and Sid another, but thatwas all. Langridge struck out his last man with the bases full and thegame ended.
"I thought you were a pitcher," sneered Langridge as the teams filed offthe field, and there were several laughs at Tom's expense, for he hadnot made a good showing in the box.
"Sure he can pitch," cried Molloy, coming to Tom's defense. "The groundwas new to him, that's all."
"Rats!" retorted Langridge, and Tom was too humiliated to make a reply.
"Just the same he'll make a good pitcher," said Mr. James Lighton, thecoach of the 'varsity, who had strolled out to watch the practice. "Hehas a swift ball, but he lacks control. We can make a first-classpitcher of him, Molloy."
"I'm sure I hope so," murmured the red-haired youth. "We didn't do verywell last year with Langridge, though he seems to have improved to-day."
"So will young Parsons," declared the coach. "You watch him. I'll takehim in hand as soon as the team is in shape. He'll probably have to goon the scrub first, but he won't stay there long."
But Tom did not hear these comforting words, and it was with rather abitter feeling in his heart that he went to his room to dress forsupper.
"You'll be better next game," said Sid, trying to console him.
"Maybe there won't be any next game for me," was Tom's reply. "I sawKerr and Langridge talking together, and I'm sure it was about me."
"That's all right. Kerr isn't going to be captain of the 'varsity."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure. I've got a straight tip. We've votes enough to elect old KindlingsWoodhouse."
And so it proved the next day, when the election was held. Dan Woodhousereceived forty more ballots than did Kerr and his election, after thefirst test, was made unanimous, a compliment always paid. Then baseballmatters began in earnest. Candidates were chosen, Coach Lighton orderedregular practice and established a training table. Tom was much chagrinedwhen he found that he was named for pitcher on the scrub, while Langridgegot the coveted place as pitcher on the 'varsity, but Sid told his chumthat the scrub was but a stepping stone to the final goal. And when thecoach began to take Tom in hand and give him some much-needed instructionabout control Tom began to feel that, after all, perhaps he had a chance.
It was about a week later, following some rather hard practice on thediamond, that a hurried knock was heard on the door of the room occupiedby Sid and Tom.
"Come," called Sid, looking up from his Latin book.
"Pole rush to-night!" cried Dutch Housenlager, poking his head in andrapidly withdrawing it, as though he feared a book would be hurled athim. "Meet on the campus at eight o'clock. Old clothes--it's going to bea hard fight."
"That's the stuff!" exclaimed Sid, throwing his book across the room."Come on, Tom. We'll have a battle royal with our traditional enemies,the sophs."
The pole rush was like the cane or cannon rushes held in other colleges.Half a dozen of the strongest of the freshmen formed a circle, withlinked arms about the big flag pole on the campus. About them inconcentric circles their chums formed a series of defensive rings.Then the sophomores came at them with a rush, seeking to displace thefirst-year lads and arrange themselves in a circle about the pole. Ifthey succeeded in doing this inside of fifteen minutes it meant that thefreshmen could wear no college colors their first term. It was to thisrush that Tom, Sid and their friends hurried when Dutch and some otherswent about to the various rooms sounding the rallying cry.
Out on the campus that soft spring evening was a motley crowd ofstudents. On one side were gathered the sophomores and on the other thefreshmen.
"My, there are a lot of 'em," remarked Phil Clinton. "I shouldn't wonderbut they've rung in some seniors on us."
"No, they wouldn't do that," declared Sid. "They're a big class."
Langridge and some others were going about selecting the men who were toform the first circle about the pole. Tom and Phil, who were both sturdylads, were chosen for this honor.
"In place! in place!" cried the impatient sophomores.
"Line up! line up, fellows!" shouted Langridge.
Tom and his chums took their positions. The protectors formed aboutthem.
"Hold fast, everybody!" cautioned Phil as he grasped Tom's arm.
"Here they come! here they come!" was the warning cry, and with a rushthe sophomores hurled themselves against the mass of lads about thepole.