Sid hurried on, his thoughts in a wild tumult. In his pocket was a note from Dr. Churchill, restoring him to all his rights and privileges. Sid had asked for it, lest Boxer Hall protest his entrance into the game at the last minute, for Sid was fully determined to play, and help his team to win. He knew he was in good form, for he had not neglected practice.

"If I can catch the next car," he thought, "I'll be in time." Then, as he caught sight of something yellow through the trees on the banks of Sunny river, along which the electric line extended, he exclaimed:

"There's a car, now! I'll have to sprint for it. Glad I didn't stop to get my suit. I can borrow one from a sub when I get there, I guess." He broke into a run, but noted, curiously, that the car did not seem to be moving very fast. Then, as he made the turn in the road, he saw that it was standing still, and that a number of the pa.s.sengers were walking about, idly. "Must have had a fuse blow out, or a hot box, and they're waiting to cool it," he mused. "Lucky for me, as the electrics don't run very often from now on."

Sid dropped into a walk, and was soon at the stalled car.

"What's the matter?" asked the second baseman of the motorman, who was sitting on a gra.s.sy bank, idly chopping at a stone with his controller handle.

"Power's off."

"For long?" asked Sid, his heart thumping under his ribs.

"Hard to say. It's been off nearly an hour now, and the conductor just telephoned in, and they said it might be an hour more."

"An hour more! Then I can't get to Boxer Hall in time for the game."

The motorman looked quizzically at Sid.

"Not unless you walk, or hire an auto," he remarked, and fell again to hammering the stone. The other pa.s.sengers were fretting, complaining, or accepting the situation philosophically, as befitted their natures. Sid made up his mind quickly.

"I can walk to Fordham junction, and take the train," he decided. "From Bendleton, which is the nearest railroad station to Boxer Hall, it's only two miles. Maybe I can run it in time, or perhaps I'll meet some one who will give me a lift. Anyway, that's my best chance. I'll do it,"

and, with a final glance at the stalled car, hoping he might see the flashing up of the lights on it, which would tell of the power being turned on, Sid turned and made off toward the distant railroad station.

As the janitor had informed Sid, Tom and the other ball players, including the subst.i.tutes, had made an early start in a large automobile, carrying twenty pa.s.sengers. It was of the type known as a "rubber-neck," from the fact that they are used in big cities to take visitors to the scenes of interest, there to "rubber," or stretch their necks in gazing aloft.

"See anything of Sid, as you came away?" asked Holly Cross, who sat beside Tom and Phil, as the auto swayed along.

"No," answered Tom briefly. "I fancy he's left for good. Poor old Sid!

Isn't it a shame that he went to pieces as he did? If we only had him now our chances would be brighter."

"Would you play him if he came along?" asked Phil.

"Of course--provided I could--that he was in good standing so Boxer Hall couldn't protest. But what's the use of talking?"

"Is he in good form, captain?" asked Bricktop.

"Sid never goes stale," answered Tom. "Besides, with his ability to slice a ball to right or left field in a pinch, hitting right and left handed as he does, it would be just great for us to-day."

"Still worrying?" asked Phil.

"Of course. So would you, if you were in my place. Don't you know what this game means to us?"

"Sure we do, me lad," answered Bricktop, kindly. "But say this over to yourself a few times and you'll feel better. 'Tis a proverb of me old Irish ancestors. 'Soft an' aisy goes far in a day,' that's it. 'Soft and aisy goes far in a day.' Remember that, Tommy, me lad, and take it 'aisy' as the good Irish say. We'll win--never fear--we'll win."

There was talk and laughter, serious conversation and much chaffing as the auto rumbled along. They had started early and thought they would have plenty of time, but something went wrong with the steering gear once, and a second time the water in the radiator needed replenishing, so that with the delays it left the players with no more than time to get to Boxer Hall in season for the game, and left hardly any time for practice.

"Hadn't you better hit up the pace a little, my friend," suggested Mr.

Leighton to the chauffeur.

"I will, yes, sir," was the answer, and the big car did make better time, for it was on a good road. The team fell to laughing and joking again, but suddenly stopped, as the auto once more came to a halt just before crossing Pendleton river, a stream somewhat larger than Sunny river, and intercepting the main road between the two colleges.

"What's up now?" asked Tom.

"The drawbridge is open," replied the chauffeur.

The players stood up and looked across the river. The draw, which was necessary on account of a number of sailboats on the stream, was swung, making an impa.s.sable gap, for the stream at that point was swift and deep. Some men were seen on the middle of the bridge.

"What's the matter? Why don't you swing shut that bridge?" yelled Phil.

"Can't," answered one of the men.

"Why not?"

"The machinery that operates the draw is broken. We swung the bridge open to let a boat pa.s.s, and now we can't close it again. We've sent for some mechanics to repair it."

"How long will it take?" yelled Tom.

"Oh, not long. Two or three hours, maybe."

"Two or three hours! Great smokestacks!" howled Tom. "That will be too late for us. We can't get to the game on time!"

"Of course not!" agreed Holly Cross. "And Boxer Hall will be just mean enough to call a forfeit, and claim the championship!"

"Say, you've got to swing this bridge shut, and let us pa.s.s!" sung out Phil.

"Can't!" yelled the men who were on the bridge, marooned as it were.

"We've tried, but it won't budge."

"What's to be done?" asked Jerry Jackson.

"Yes, what's to be done?" echoed his twin brother.

"Guess we'll have to swim for it," suggested Dutch Housenlager. "That is, unless Gra.s.shopper Backus can jump over with us on his back, one at a time."

But, though they could joke over the situation, they all knew that it was serious. The time was drawing close, and they were still some distance from Boxer Hall. Further inquiry of the men on the bridge did not help matters, nor did the fuming and fretting of Tom and his chums.

"Can't you suggest a plan?" asked Mr. Leighton of the chauffeur.

"Well, there's another bridge about five miles below here."

"That's too far. Ten miles out of our way. Time we went there, and got back it would be too late. Boxer Hall would claim the game. Can nothing be done?" and the coach looked at the swiftly swirling river. At that moment a man driving a mule hitched to a buckboard came along. He took in the situation at a glance.

"Stuck, eh?" he remarked sympathetically.

"That's what," replied Bricktop Molloy. "Maybe ye happen t' be a fairy, Mr. Man, an' can help us across."

"Why don't you try the ford?" asked the man.