"Come on in," he said quietly.
"I—I just want to congratulate you, dominie," he said, and he smiled a little, but there was a curious note in his voice. "You did magnificent work. I could never have equaled it in a thousand years. Will you shake hands?"
Sid wondered at the queer air of restraint about Langridge, but Tom understood, and there was heartiness and forgiveness in the grip that followed.
"I've resigned as manager," went on Langridge. "I—I hope they'll elect you, dominie. We won't be rivals any more."
"Are you going to leave college?" asked Sid curiously.
"No. I'm going to give up athletics for a while, though, and become a grind. I've been beaten two ways lately," he went on. "Parsons is a better pitcher than I am, and—and" but he did not finish, though Tom knew he referred to Miss Tyler. Then Langridge vent out and Sid and Tom played the game all over again in talk.
Suddenly there was a shout out on the campus. Tom looked from the window.
"What is it?" asked Sid.
"They're getting ready for the procession and the bonfires along the river. Come on."
The two chums rushed downstairs, Phil Clin-
