# The Rival Pitchers/Chapter 8
#### CHAPTER VIII
##### AT PRACTICE

Following the exciting scenes of the pole rush it was rather difficult for any of the lads to settle down to study that night, but for some it was a necessity, and Tom and Sid were in this number. Tom, by reason of missing the first week of the term, was a little behind his class, but he was a fine student, and the instructor saw that there would be no trouble for the lad in covering the lost ground. With Sid it was another matter. Though faithful and earnest, studying did not come easy for him, and, as he expressed it, he had to "bone away like a ground hog" to get facts and dates fixed in his mind. Consequently, because of the evening of fun, ten o'clock saw Sid and Tom busy in their room over their books.
For an hour or more nothing was heard but the occasional turning of the pages or the noise of a pencil being rapidly pushed across the paper. At length Tom, with a sigh of relief, closed his chemistry and remarked:
​"There, I guess that will do for to-night. My eyes are tired."
"So are mine," added Sid. "I'm going to kiss this Latin prose good-night and put it to bed," and he threw the book under his cot. "Pleasant dreams," he added sarcastically. "Gee! but I hate Latin," he exclaimed.
"Why do you take it?"
"Oh, dad thinks I'll need it. I'd a heap sight rather learn to play the banjo."
"Not much comparison there, Sid."
"No, but don't mention comparison. That reminds me of grammar, and grammar reminds me of verbs, and verbs naturally bring to mind declension, and—there you are. Let's talk about something pleasant."
"What do you call pleasant?"
"Well, baseball, for instance, though maybe that isn't very pleasant for you, since you didn't make the first team."
"No," admitted Tom frankly, "it isn't pleasant to think about. I did want to get on the first team and I may yet. But I've learned one thing since coming here."
"That's good. Maybe I'd better call up Moses and tell him. He'll feel encouraged that some of the students are progressing."
"No, I wouldn't advise you to do that," spoke Tom with a laugh that showed his white, even ​teeth. "In fact, what I've learned didn't have much to do with books."
"What was it?"
"Well, it's been made very clear to me that it's something different from being a big fish in a little puddle than acting the part of a small-sized finny resident in a more extended body of water, to put it scientifically."
"Meaning what, if you don't mind translating?" came from Sid as he stretched out on the rather worn and springless sofa.
"Meaning that I had an idea that I was about as good as the next one in the pitching line, but I find I'm not."
"Proceed," came calmly from Sid, who had his eyes shut.
"No, I'm afraid I might disturb your slumbers," said Tom quickly, and there was a curious change in his voice.
Sid sat up quickly.
"I beg your pardon, old man," he exclaimed. "I was listening all right and I'm interested, honest I am. Only my eyes hurt to-night. But it must be quite different, coming from a small village to a fairly large college. Did you have a good nine at Northville?"
"Well," went on Tom, somewhat mollified at his chum's interest, "we cleaned up all the other nines around there. I was considered a crackajack ​pitcher, but I guess now the reason for that may have been that the others were rotten batsmen."
"There's something in that," admitted Sid judicially. 'You see, things are peculiar here. Now take Langridge. Nobody, unless it's Kerr and a few others, cares much about him. Yet he's a fairly consistent pitcher, and he's the best they've had in some years, they tell me. Now our college has had rather hard luck on the diamond, especially in the Tonoka Lake League. There was a better chance of winning the championship last year than in any previous one, but we didn't make good. It wasn't altogether Langridge's fault. He didn't have very good support, I'm told. Now they've decided to keep him on, or, rather he's engineered things so that, as manager, he keeps himself on. And there are some hopes of pulling out somewhere in the lead of the league this season. But Langridge is his own best friend."
"And he keeps me from pitching on the Varsity," said Tom somewhat bitterly.
"Can you blame him?'
"No, I don't know that I can," was the frank answer. "I s'pose I'd do the same thing. But I hope in time to be a better pitcher than he is."
"How are you coming on with the coach?"
"Fine. Mr. Lighten has given me some good pointers, and I needed them. My curves are all ​right and so is my speed. It's my control that's weak, and I'm getting rid of some of my faults."
"We're going to have a practice game with you scrubs to-morrow or next day," said Sid. "Maybe you'll get a chance to show what you can do then."
"I hope so. I want to show Langridge that he isn't the only bean in the pot, to put it poetically."
"Very poetically," murmured Sid, who seemed to be dozing off.
"Say, Sid," exclaimed Tom suddenly, "do you remember what you started to say about Langridge the other day and stopped?"
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"I'd rather not tell. You'll probably find out for yourself before long. I did, though not many know it."
"You mean——"
"I'm not going to say what I mean. Only," and Sid suddenly sat up, "it may increase your chances of pitching on the 'varsity."
"I think I know," said Tom slowly, and he began to get ready for bed.
A practice game between the 'varsity and the scrub was called for the next afternoon. The first team was in rather disorganized shape yet. That is to say, not all the players vere in permanent positions and shifts were likely to be made at any time as practice brought out defects or merits. It ​was even said that some now on the 'varsity might be relegated to the scrub and some from the second team advanced. Tom secretly hoped so in his case, but his common sense told him he stood a slim chance. Langridge, of course, was pitcher on the first team and Kerr was the catcher. Kindlings Woodhouse played on third, where he could direct the efforts of his men.
When the scrub and regular teams ere out on the diamond ready for the practice game Kindlings looked over his players.
"Where's Sid Henderson?" he asked.
"He got turned back in Latin at last class," volunteered Jerry Jackson.
"Here he comes now," added Joe Jackson, as if he was an echo to his brother.
Sid came running up, all out of breath, buttoning his blouse as he advanced.
"What's the matter, son?" asked the captain.
"That rotten Latin."
"Be careful," warned Kindlings. "Don't slump too often or you may put us in a hole. You aren't the only first baseman that ever lived, but you're pretty good, and I don't want to go to work training you in and have you fired off the team by the faculty for not keeping up your studies."
"Oh, I'll be careful," promised Sid confidently, and then the game started.
​The 'varsity played snappy ball and the scrub seemed a bit ragged, naturally perhaps as there was less incentive for them to play hard.
"Brace up, fellows," implored Tom toward the close of the game. "They're only four runs ahead of us, and if we can knock out a couple of three-baggers we'll throw a scare into them. They're weak in right and left field. Soak the horsehide toward either of the twins, but don't get it near Phil Clinton. If he gets it within a foot of his mitt, it's a goner."
"It's a wonder you wouldn't strike out more men," said Fenton. "My uncle says that when he was a coach——"
"Play ball!" yelled the umpire, and the reminiscence was cut short.
The scrubs did "take a brace" and began finding the curves of Langridge, much to that pitcher's annoyance. Tom made a neat two-bagger, but died on third, though the score was bettered in favor of the scrub by two more runs.
Tom went to his box with a firm step and a more certain feeling about his ability than he had ever experienced before. He was sure he could strike out at least two men, and he did so, including Langridge and Holly Cross.
Holly, who was a good batter, was laughed at by his chums.
​"You'll have to do better than that," warned Langridge.
"Do better yourself," retorted Holly. "I didn't want to hit it, anyhow. I was giving you an imitation of how close I could come to it and miss it."
"Those imitations don't do on this circuit," added the tall Kindlings. "It's mighty risky in a game."
"Oh, yes, in a game," admitted Holly with a laugh.
Tom gave one man a chance to walk and the next popped out a fly that Dutch Housenlager neatly gathered in. The game ended with no runs for the 'varsity in the last inning and they had beaten the scrub by only two runs.
"It might be worse," said Mr. Lighton grimly as the teams filed off the diamond. "It might be worse, Woodhouse, but I don't like it."
"Neither do I," admitted the captain gloomily. "We tackle Boxer Hall in the first of the league series next week, and I think I'll have to make some more shifts. What do you think of Langridge?"
"Well, he's all right—yet. If he doesn't——" The coach stopped suddenly, seemed about to say something and then evidently thought better of it. "At any rate," he finished, "if worst comes to worst, we can put Parsons in. He's improving every day, and with a little more coaching so that he isn't quite so awkward and can run better, he'll ​make a star player. He'll be on the first team next year."
"He wants to get on this year."
"Perhaps he will," and with that the coach walked off rather abruptly.