Tom as he linked his arm in that of the new 'varsity pitcher.
"That was a fine catch of yours, to return the compliment," said Tom with a laugh.
"Don't go forming a mutual admiration society," advised Mr. Lighton. "Play ball—that's the thing to do."
"It's queer what's become of Langridge," remarked Tom to Sid when they were in their room a few nights later, talking over the approaching final game with Fairview. "He seems to have dropped out of sight."
"That's where he'd better stay," declared Sid. "He'll never be any more account to the team. We'll have a new manager when we whip Fairview."
"If we only do!"
"Oh, we will. I only hope I can play."
"Why, is there any chance that you won't?"
"Well, I'm pretty shaky in Latin, and Pitchfork has warned me that if I slump, it's me to the bench for the rest of this term. I'm going over and see Bricktop Molloy. He's a fiend at Latin. Rather study it than eat. He's been coaching me lately, and I want to get the benefit of it. So I'll just go and bone with him a bit."
"Go ahead, old man. Wish I could help you, but I've got to look after my own rations. I'm none too safe."
