"So'm I, you old hunk of fried tripe! Have a smoke."
"No," and Tom started on.
"Hold on!" cried Langridge. "I'll go with you. I'm going to shake you fellows," and he waved his hand to his companions. Tm going to be virtuous and go to bed with the larks. I wonder if larks do go to bed, anyhow."
"You mean chickens," declared one of the others with a laugh. "Come on then, fellows, if Langridge goes back, we'll stay and have some more fun."
Tom was not unwilling to play the good Samaritan, so linking his arm in that of Langridge, he led him down the street. The 'varsity pitcher was not as steady on his feet as he should have been.
"I—I s'pose you'll tell Kindlings and Lighten about me, eh, what?" he asked brokenly as he walked along.
"No," said Tom quietly. "But you ought to cut it out, Langridge, if not for your own sake for the sake of the team."
"That's right, that's right, old man, I ought. You're a good sort of chap, too preachy maybe, but all right. I ought to cut it out, but I like fun."
"You ought to give up smoking and drinking," went on Tom boldly. He had determined that this was just the chance he wanted and decided that he would take advantage of it.
