# The Rival Pitchers/Chapter 12
#### CHAPTER XII
##### TOM DOESN'T TELL

Tom and Sid hurried along in the midst of the freshmen, Phil Clinton trailing after them. The three found themselves in a little group, comparatively alone.
"Maybe we'd better do something," proposed Tom.
"No, best not to interfere," advised Sid. "Let them manage it."
"But if Gladdus and Battersby are hurt——"
"Come on," urged Phil. "We're likely to be caught any minute. Proc. Zane will be out after all that racket. Let's get to our rooms and lay low."
When Tom and Sid were in their apartment the scrub pitcher turned to his chum and asked:
"Did you know what was in the wind to-night, Sid?"
"No. I left it all to Langridge and Kerr. But I guess it's all right. Why?"
"Oh, nothing much. But if some one is hurt——"
​"Nonsense, don't worry. Why, that's nothing to what other classes have done. I remember hearing a story of how——"
But Sid's yarn was interrupted by a tap at the door, and Ford Fenton slid' in. There was rather a frightened look on his face.
"What's up, Fenton?" asked Sid.
"I don't know, but something is. They've carried Gladdus and Battersby into the infirmary, and there's a lot of scurrying about. They've sent for a doctor from town, and Moses and Proc. Zane have gone down to the pavilion."
"What for?" asked Tom.
"Blessed if I know. Say, but we broke up their singing all right, didn't we? It was great. My uncle says——"
"Shut up!" cried Tom, and there was such unusual irritability in his tone that the -other two looked at him in surprise. He saw it and went on: "I—I didn't exactly mean that, Fenton, old chap, but I'm—I'm all upset."
"For cats' sake, what about?" demanded Sid. "You don't mean to say you're worried because our class knocked out a couple of greasy old sophs?"
"Well, I—er——"
There came another interruption, and a lad entered.
"Here's the Snail," exclaimed Sid as Sam Looper crawled in and closed the door softly behind him. ​"He can find out what's up. How about it, Snail—any news?"
Sam blinked his eyes as if the light hurt him.
"I've been around—around," he said slowly, waving his hand to take in the whole compass of the college and grounds. "I saw 'em carry the two sophs away. They're badly burned and shocked. Langridge is a fool!" They had seldom seen the Snail so excited. "He went and strung a wire from the electric light circuit to the iron hand rail around the pavilion. Only he made a mistake in the connections and got the wires crossed with the powerful arc circuit. The incandescent is only a hundred and ten volts, while the arc is twenty-four hundred. Some difference. Only that they got a small part of it, they'd be dead instead of merely badly shocked."
Tom Parsons half uttered an exclamation.
"What's the matter?" asked Sid quickly.
"Oh, nothing. Go on, Snail."
"That's about all," came from Sam. "Pitchfork—he's a sort of doctor, you know—he's working over 'em now. I guess they'll be all right."
Tom started to leave the room.
"Where you going?" inquired Sid.
"Out. I—I must see what's happened!"
"You stay here!" ordered Sid, half fiercely.
"You'll be nabbed in a minute. Proc. Zane has his scouts out, waiting to corral everybody. Here, ​Snail, you go. You know how to keep out of sight."
"Sure," agreed Sam, who liked nothing better than to prowl around in the dark. "Wait here and I'll sneak back."
"Be careful," cautioned Ford.
The Snail slowly winked his half-shut eyes, but did not speak. Then he closed the door softly and they heard him tiptoeing down the corridor.
"The Snail will find out," almost whispered Sid. Somehow they all appeared to be under a strain. Tom was pacing back and forth in the room. Ford stood with his back to the mantel, his hands clasped behind him. Sid tried to look at a book, but he took no sense of the words. Finally, with an exclamation, he threw it on the sofa. Ford quietly left the room and a little later Phil Clinton came in. Sid and Tom saw that he had heard all.
Tom ceased his nervous walk and went over to the sofa. He sat down on it, the ancient piece of furniture creaking with his weight. But he was not there half a minute before he arose and began pacing up?.nd down again. Then he tried an easy chair, whence there floated up a little cloud of dust from the old cushions. There was silence in the apartment, broken only by the ticking of a fussy little alarm clock. It seemed to double up on the number of seconds allotted to a minute. The three could hear each other's breathing. They were ​under some strain, though, for the life of them, neither Sid nor Phil could tell what it was.
"Why doesn't some one say something?" asked Phil at length, and it was as if some one had broken the silence in a church.
Sid picked up the book he had cast aside. Then he threw it down again, for there sounded the noise of a person coming along the corridor. The Snail came in.
"Well?" gasped Tom, and it was as if he had shouted it, though he spoke in a low, tense voice.
"They're in a bad way," said the Snail slowly, "but there's a chance to pull them through. There's going to be an investigation, I heard. Langridge is likely to——"
There came a knock on the door. The lads started guiltily. Phil, being nearest the portal, opened it, though if it was one of the proctor's "scouts," as was likely, he would be "up" for breaking one of the college rules about being in another room after the prescribed hours. It was a "scout," Mr. Snell, a sort of upper janitor.
"Mr. Parsons," said the scout deferentially and he took no notice of the presence of the Snail or Phil, for which they were duly grateful—"Mr. Parsons, the proctor would like to see you in his office."
"Now?" asked Tom, and his heart began to beat double strokes.
​"Now, yes, sir."
Without a look at his chums Tom went out and to the office. He was afraid lest he might betray the secret he feared would be disclosed at any moment—the secret of the coil of wire.
"Mr. Parsons," began Proctor Zane slowly when the door had closed behind Tom, "there has been a serious accident to-night."
Tom bowed. He could not trust his voice.
"Two students were badly hurt and the results may be lasting. They are only just now out of danger."
Once more Tom bowed. He could not speak. The beating of his heart was choking him.
"As a rule," went on the proctor judicially, "I take no notice of the—er—the affairs between the different classes or student bodies. But this time I am obliged to. Dr. Churchill and myself have made an examination of the pavilion where this outrage occurred. We discovered the wires running from the electric light circuit to the hand rail. We discovered where a spring connection had been made, so that, by the burning away of a fuse, the parts of the spring closed, the wires came in contact and the current filled the hand rail. We also discovered something else."
He paused, and Tom, for the first time, looked the proctor full in the face. Mr. Zane held out a small object.
​"This knife was found near where the wires were fastened to the railing," he said. "It has your name on it. Is it yours?"
"Yes, sir," replied Tom.
"You took part in this affair?"
"I am a freshman."
"That is answer enough. Did you attach the wires?"
"No, and I had nothing to do with that part of it."
"Your knife would seem to indicate that you had."
No answer from Tom.
"Did you use your knife to attach the wires?"
"No, sir."
"Do you know who did?"
"I think I do."
"Will you tell?"
Tom could almost hear his heart beating. There was a singing in his ears. Then he answered:
"No. I cannot tell, Mr. Zane. I—I——"
"That will do," said the proctor gravely. "I did not expect you would tell."
Tom turned and made his way from the room. There was a mist before his eyes. There came back to him the: promise he had made to Langridge. On his honor as a freshman he had agreed not to give information. When he gave the promise he ​had not known how serious it would be. But, nevertheless, it was a promise.
Tom stumbled into his room. The Snail and Phil were gone. Sid sat with the light turned low. He jumped up as his chum came in.
"Tom," he cried, "what's the matter?"
"Nothing," was the answer in a dull, spiritless tone. Tom threw himself into a chair. The fussy little clock ticked away. Half an hour passed and not a word was spoken.
"You'd better go to bed, old man," said Sid gently. "It'll be all right to-morrow."
Without a word Tom began to undress. Th light was turned out. Sid was dozing off when he heard his chum tossing restlessly on his bed.
"Tom," he called through the darkness, "can I help you?"
"No," came the answer, and then Tom lay quiet. But he did not sleep.