Langridge glanced quickly at the speaker.
"His name is down," he answered quietly—more quietly than any one expected him to speak. "Are there any others?"
No one answered.
"We'll meet for practice to-morrow afternoon," went on Langridge. "Of course, it's understood that no one plays on the team who doesn't contribute his share of expenses," and he looked straight at Tom Parsons.
Without a word the country lad drew out a wallet, none too well filled, to judge by the looks of it.
"What's the tax?" he asked, still smiling.
"The—er—the finance committee attends to that," was the answer Langridge made. "They'll meet to-night."
Evidently he had not expected so ready a compliance on Tom's part.
"Well, if it's all settled, I move we adjourn," suggested Ed Kerr. "Let's have a scrub game, for luck."
At that moment a lad came hurrying into the gymnasium.
"Where's Langridge?" he asked excitedly.
"Here," replied the baseball manager. "What's up?"
"Hazing!" was the somewhat breathless answer.
