Randall got one run in the tenth, putting them ahead, and then came a supreme struggle for Tom. Coolly and calculatingly he delivered the b.a.l.l.s. He struck out the first man, who viciously threw down his bat so hard that it splintered. The second man also went the same way, and there was a salvo of cheers that shook the stands, while the stamping of feet of the anxious ones threatened to bring down the structures.

Tom measured his next man and sent in a neat little drop. But the batter was a veteran and got under it in time. He sent it well out into the field.

"Take it, Jerry! Take it!" cried the coach, for the horsehide seemed about to fall into the right fielder's hands. But he m.u.f.fed it, and what a howl there was! George Stoddard, who had knocked it, kept on to second, for which he had to slide, but he was called safe. Then Tom was obliged to pa.s.s the next man to first, for he was an excellent hitter, while the one who followed him was not. But just then one of those "accidents" that are always cropping up in sport happened and the poor hitter made good, knocking a curious little twisting fly that the first baseman misjudged, and the run came in, again tieing the score. But no more Boxer players crossed home plate.

It was with a "do or die" expression on all the faces of the Randalls that they came to bat in the eleventh inning. The story of that game is college history now, and how Tom brought in a run after a magnificent hit that would have been a "homer" but for the fleetness of the opposing center fielder's feet is told to many a freshman. They could do no more, though, after getting one ahead.

It needed but a single run on the part of the Boxers to tie the score and two to win. But Tom resolved that they should not get even that one tally. He went to his box, his teeth clenched, making his jaw look firm and square. He resolved to try a new sort of twisting curve that he had used several times against the 'varsity. Each time it had proved deceptive. He worked it on the first man and sent him ingloriously to the bench. Then the second batter fell for it, but Tom dared not try it on the third. He felt himself getting nervous, and his next delivery was a bit wild. A ball was called on him, but that was all. The next three deliveries were strikes, and the batter, though he fanned desperately at them, missed each time.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BATTER MISSED EACH TIME]

"That settles it!" cried Phil Clinton as Tom, with a wildly throbbing heart, walked out of the box, while a hush fell over the a.s.semblage, for the crowd could hardly realize that the game was over and that Randall had won by a score of 13 to 12.

"Good work, Parsons! Oh, pretty work!" yelled a host of supporters, and then such cheering as there was!

"Come, fellows, a cheer for Boxer Hall!" cried Captain Woodhouse, and it was given, followed by the college yell.

Boxer generously retaliated, and as the teams ran for the dressing-rooms Langridge, pale and with trembling hands, stepped out. He was dressed in his street garments, and without a word to his chums, he started across the diamond for the grandstand.

"He's going over to her," thought Tom, and the joy of the victory he had helped to win was embittered for him.

"Parsons, you did splendidly!" cried Mr. Lighton. "I congratulate you with all my heart. If it hadn't been for you, we'd have lost the game."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"Yes, we would. You're the regular pitcher on this team for the remainder of the season, subject, of course, to the confirmation of Captain Woodhouse."

"Whatever you say," a.s.sented Kindlings, but he looked a bit uncomfortable.

"There are only two more games," went on the coach, "one out of town next Sat.u.r.day, and then comes the final struggle with Fairview. If we win that, we'll have the pennant."

"Oh, we'll win!" cried Holly Cross. "Look who's going to pitch for us."

"I don't know about that," replied Tom with a laugh, but he was silenced with cheers.

"Well, I want you to win that game," concluded the coach as he walked off the diamond and the team got ready to go back to Randall.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

LANGRIDGE APPEALS

While the stage coach in which the players had come from Randall was being gotten ready to take the victorious nine back Tom strolled across the diamond toward the grandstand. He wanted to be alone for a moment and think, for he had many ideas in his mind, and they were not all connected with his recent work in the pitcher's box. A certain bright-eyed girl figured largely in them.

"I thought she'd given him up," he said to himself. "Well, of course, it's none of my affair, but----"

There generally was a "but," Tom felt. The crowd was nearly gone and he was about to turn back and join his chums.

Suddenly he became aware of a girlish figure alone in the big stand. He looked to make sure who it was, for at the first glimpse he had felt that it was she of whom he was thinking. As he did so the girl looked at him. It was Miss Tyler, and Tom noticed that there were tears in her eyes. He saw nothing of Langridge as he hastened toward her.

"Why, Madge--Miss Tyler!" he exclaimed, "what is the matter? Have you lost anything? Are you alone? I thought Fred Langridge was going----"

She stamped her little foot.

"Please don't speak his name to me!" she exclaimed.

Tom opened his eyes.

"Why--why----" he stammered.

"He came over to me in--in no proper condition to escort me home," she went on tearfully. "Oh, Tom, I'm--I'm so miserable!"

She acted as though she were going to break down and cry in real earnest, and Tom was on the anxious edge, for he hated to see girls weep. But she mastered herself with an effort.

"May I take you back to Haddonfield?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and she came down from the upper part of the stand to join him. They walked off the field, both silent for a time, and Tom was wondering what would be the safest subject to talk about. But Miss Tyler spoke first.

"You did fine work," she said. "I'm--I'm glad you got the chance to pitch."

"So am I," declared Tom, "but I'm sorry for----" He did not know whether or not to mention his rival's name. But she understood.

"So am I--I'm very sorry for him. It's all his horrid money that's doing it. He wants to be what the boys call a 'sport.' But he isn't. He's unfair to himself--to me. But I'm done with him! I shall never speak to him again."

Tom was both glad and sorry.

"Do you think you will win from Fairview?" asked the girl after a pause.

"I think so."

"I hope you do. I want to see that game, but I don't----"

"Won't you let me take you?" asked Tom quickly. "We are going in a number of autos and there'll be lots of room."

"Oh, I didn't mean to hint so broadly," she exclaimed, and her face crimsoned.

"I was going to ask you, anyhow," declared Tom. "Will you go?"

"Yes," she replied softly.

"And help me to pitch to win," added Tom, and he tried to look into her face, but she averted her eyes.

There was great celebrating in Randall that night. Some of the boys wanted to light historic bonfires along the river, which blazes were always kindled on great occasions, but Mr. Lighton reminded the lads that they had still to win the contest with Fairview before they would be champions, and he urged that the game was no easy one. So milder forms of making glad were subst.i.tuted. Tom was the hero of the hour, and he felt that there had been made up to him everything that he had suffered in being kept so long on the scrub.

It was dark in the apartments of Langridge. No one had seen him since the game and few cared about him.