Sid went out and Tom was left alone with his books. But somehow he could not study. He took no sense of the printed page. There was an uneasiness in his mind and he could not put his thoughts into form.
"Hang it all!" he exclaimed, "I guess I'm thinking too much of baseball."
He got up to take a turn in the corridors to change the current of his thoughts when there came a knock at the door.
"Come!" he cried, thinking it would prove to be some of his chums. The portal slowly swung and Tom, looking at the widening crack, saw the pale face of Langridge.
"May I come in?" asked the former pitcher, and his voice trembled.
"Of course," answered Tom heartily. "Where have you been keeping yourself?"
"It doesn't much matter. I—I've come to ask a favor of you, Parsons."
"A favor of me?"
"Yes, and it's a mighty big one."
There was a dogged, determined air about him as he stood there facing his rival who had supplanted him, and Tom wondered what was coming next.
"Why, I'll do anything I can for you, Langridge, of course."
"Wait until you hear what I want. There's no
