yell for help for the sophs who were bringing up a lot of our fellows, and the ones who had me and those on guard cut for it. I guess our lads got away. I heard a row back here and came to see what it was. Are you all right now? Can you walk? If you can, we'll go on to the dinner. We've beaten out the sophs. Can you manage?"
"I—I guess so," replied Tom, who was feeling stronger every moment. If only that terrible pain in his arm would cease. "Where's Langridge?" he asked.
"Langridge? He isn't around. I haven't seen him to-night at all," answered Clinton. "Feeling better?"
"Yes, I'm all right. Only my arm."
"Is it broken?"
"No, only bruised. Some one kicked—I guess I must have fallen on it," Tom corrected himself quickly. His mind was in a tumult over what had happened. He had seen Langridge plainly in the light of a lantern carried by one of the sophomores, and he felt that Langridge must have seen him, for the gleam struck full on his face. Yet why had the 'varsity pitcher attacked Tom? Could he have mistaken him for a sophomore? Tom hardly thought so, yet the kick had been a savage one. His arm was swelling from it.
"Are you sure they didn't catch Langridge?" asked Tom as he stumbled on beside Phil.
