something new for him to find fault openly with Langridge. The latter felt it, too, and hardly knew what to say.
"Well, I—er—I"
"Yes, make some excuse," went on the catcher bitterly. "We got dumped, and that's all there is to it. I'm not saying I did such brilliant work—none of us did—but you did rotten, Langridge, and you know it. It isn't as if you couldn't do better, for we all know you can. You've gone stale—or—or something!"
Tom had an idea what it was that had made the pitcher go "stale." His brilliant hit and run had been followed by a reaction, the result of the stimulant he took. It is always thus.
Langridge stared at Kerr, his most particular chum, and then, as if not understanding it, went off by himself in a corner of the car. It was not a jolly party that rode back to Randall College. Nor were matters much better when they arrived. The freshmen had to endure the taunts of the sophomores concerning the trolley episode, as well as their own unexpressed disappointment at the result of the game.
"Sid," said Tom in their room that night, when his roommate was stretched out on the old creaking sofa—"Sid, if you knew some member of—er—well, the crew who didn't train properly—that is
