Tom made one run and Sid another, but that was all. Langridge struck out his last man with the bases full and the game ended.
"I thought you were a pitcher," sneered Langridge as the teams filed off the field, and there were several laughs at Tom's expense, for he had not made a good showing in the box.
"Sure he can pitch," cried Molloy, coming to Tom's defense. "The ground was new to him, that's all."
"Rats!" retorted Langridge, and Tom was too humiliated to make a reply.
"Just the same he'll make a good pitcher," said Mr. James Lighton, the coach of the Varsity, who had strolled out to watch the practice. "He has a swift ball, but he lacks control. We can make a first-class pitcher of him, Molloy."
"I'm sure I hope so," murmured the red-haired youth. "We didn't do very well last year with Langridge, though he seems to have improved to-day."
"So will young Parsons," declared the coach. "You watch him. I'll take him in hand as soon as the team is in shape. He'll probably have to go on the scrub first, but he won't stay there long."
But Tom did not hear these comforting words, and it was with rather a bitter feeling in his heart that he went to his room to dress for supper.
