The Rival Pitchers/Chapter 2
CHAPTER II
A GOOD THROW
There was excitement in the ranks of the freshmen. They formed in a ring about Langridge, who once more prepared to throw the weight over the cross.
"Hold 'em back, boys!" he pleaded. "We can do it. It won't take five minutes to get the clapper after the rope's up."
"But first you've got to get it up," replied Clinton.
"And I will. Cut out your knocking. Here goes!"
Off to the right could be seen a confused mass of shadows moving toward the chapel. They were the sophomores, who in some mysterious manner had heard of the attempt to take the clapper, and who now determined to prevent it.
"They're coming," said Kerr ominously.
"I know it," answered Langridge desperately. "Keep still about it, can't you?" he asked fretfully.
"You make me nervous, and I can't throw well."
"Humph! He must be a fine pitcher if he gets nervous," declared Clinton.
Langridge glanced at the circle of freshmen about him. There were enough of them to stand off the rush of the sophomores, who, as they came nearer, were observed to be rather few in number.
"Here it goes!" exclaimed the rich youth, and he threw the lead weight with all his force. It struck the cross, but did not carry the cord over the arm.
"At 'em, fellows! At 'em!" yelled the leading sophomores. "Tear 'em apart! Don't let 'em get the clapper!"
There was a struggle on the outer fringe of freshmen, who crumpled up under the attack of the second-year lads.
"Hold 'em back!" yelled Langridge. There was no longer any need of caution.
The sophomores were hurled back by the weight of superior numbers. Seeing this their leader hastily sent for reinforcements. Meanwhile the others renewed their attack on the freshmen. Langridge prepared to make another cast.
"He'll never do that in a week!" exclaimed Clinton in disgust. "Why doesn't some one who can throw try it?"
"I'll throw, all right!" cried Langridge, as he untangled the cord, which was in a mass at his feet. He was about to make another attempt, when a lad stepped to his side—a lad who was a stranger to the others. Where he had come from they did not know.
"Let me try," he said pleasantly. "I used to be pretty fair at throwing stones. Your arm is tired, I guess."
"Who are you?" demanded Langridge suspiciously. "Are you a soph? How'd you get here?"
"I'm not a soph," replied the other good-naturedly, in a pause that followed a second hurling back of the attackers, who withdrew to wait for reinforcements. "I'm a freshman. My name is Parsons—Tom Parsons. I'm a little late getting here this term. In fact, I just arrived to-night. I was on my way from the depot to the college, when, as I crossed the campus, I heard what was up. As I'm a freshman, I decided to join in. Hope it's all right."
"I don't know you,"' said Langridge hesitatingly, fearing this was a trick of the enemy. "You may be a soph"
"No, I assure you I'm not," said Tom Parsons. "Wait a minute. Is there any one here named Sidney Henderson?"
"That's my name," replied Sid.
"Then you ought to know me. I'm to room with you, I believe. At least, I have a letter from Dr. Albertus Churchill to that effect. He's quartered me on you."
"Oh, that's all right!" cried Henderson. "Parsons is a freshman, all right. I didn't remember about it. Sure, he's all right. It's a queer time to arrive, though."
"Isn't it?" agreed Tom good-naturedly. "Couldn't help it, though. Train was late."
"Here come some more sophs!" called Kerr.
"Get that line over, for cats' sake!" demanded Clinton.
"I will!'" exclaimed Langridge.
"Shall I throw it?" asked Tom. "I guess"
"I'll do my own throwing," replied the other coldly.
"If he knows how to throw, let him try," suggested Clinton. "We want to get that clapper some time to-night."
"Go ahead, Fred," urged Kerr. "I guess your arm ain't in shape yet."
Langridge murmured something, but as there arose a general demand that he let some one else try, and as a new body of sophomores were rushing down to the attack, he handed over the lead weight.
"Can you pitch?" he asked of Tom.
"A little," was the quiet reply.
The two faced each other in the darkness, as if trying to see of what stuff each was made. It was the first time Tom Parsons and Fred Langridge met, and it was rather prophetic that this first meeting should presage others which were to follow, and in which the rivalry thus early established was to be fought out to the bitter end.
"Hurry!" urged Kerr. "We're going to have our hands full now. They're going to rush us."
Tom Parsons grasped the lead weight, and shook the cord to free it of kinks. He stepped back a few feet, looked up in the darkness to where the cross was dimly visible, and then, drawing back his arm, sent the lead with great force and straight aim up into the air.
"A good throw!" cried Sid Henderson, as the moon, just then coming out from behind a bank of clouds, showed that the cord had fallen squarely over one arm of the cross, the weight coming down to the ground on the other side of the chapel.
"A good throw!" echoed Clinton.
"Humph!" growled Langridge. "I could have done as well on the next try."
"Haul up the rope!" ordered Kerr. "Lively, now!"
Several lads ran around to where the end of the cord, still attached to the weight, was on the ground. All around a struggle was going on, the freshmen endeavoring to hold back the attacking sophomores. Now and then a second-year lad would break through the protecting fringe, only to be hurled or pushed back again by the defenders.
Quick hands hauled on the cord, and the heavier rope rose in the air and slipped over the cross. It was held down on one side by several turns taken around a post. Then it was made taut at the opposite end.
"Shin up now, Snail!" cried Langridge, who had again assumed command of things. "Quick! We'll hold the rope! Get the clapper!"
The night-loving youth moved slowly forward. But, in spite of his lack of speed, he managed to make good time up the rope, which he skilfully ascended hand over hand.
"Don't let 'em get the clapper!" "Break through and yank down the rope!" were the cries of the sophomores.
Again and again they hurled themselves against the circle of freshmen, who protected the two groups of their comrades holding either end of the rope.
"Hold 'em, boys! Hold 'em!" pleaded Langridge.
Tom Parsons threw himself into the thick of the fight. He gave blows, and he took them, all in good nature. Once, when a small sophomore broke through, Tom picked him up bodily and deposited him outside the circle of defenders.
"Say, he's got muscle, all right," observed Clinton to Kerr.
"That's what. There's class there, all right Shouldn't wonder but what he'd give Langridge a rub for pitcher, if he plays baseball."
"Oh, he'll play, all right. A fellow who can throw as he did can't help playing."
"Who's that?" asked Sid in a breathing spell, following a temporary repulse of the enemy.
"The new lad—Tom Parsons."
"Oh, yes, he plays ball," said Sid. "His father knows my father. They used to be chums in Northville, a country town. That's how Tom happened to come here, and he asked if he couldn't room with me. He plays ball, all right."
"Pitch?" asked Clinton laconically.
"I think so. Look out, here they come again!"
The conversation was interrupted to repel another rush.
"Look out below!" suddenly called the Snail from his perch near the cupola.
"Got the clapper?" yelled Langridge.
"Yep! Here it is!"
Something fell with a thud in the midst of a group of freshmen. It was the bell clapper, which the Snail had unhooked. Tom Parsons made a dive for it.
"I'll take that!" exclaimed Langridge roughly, as he shoved the newcomer to one side and grabbed up the mass of iron.
"I was only going to help," replied Tom good-naturedly.
"Cut with it!" ordered Kerr. "We can't hold 'em much longer, and we don't want 'em to get it now. Skip, Langridge. Take some interference with you."
As if it was a football game, several lads made a sort of flying wedge in front of Langridge, with him inside the apex, and, thus protected, he bored through the mass of sophomores.
"After him!" yelled several second-years, who had become aware of the trick. "He's got the clapper!"
Most of the lads rushed away from the chapel, only those remaining who were holding the rope taut. Some of these even started away.
"Hold on!" yelled the Snail. "I'm up here yet! I want to get down!"
"Don't leave Sam up there!" cried Kerr. "Hold the rope, fellows, until he shins down."
Several freshmen ran back.
"I'll help hold," volunteered Tom, though there was a temptation to join the fighting throng that surrounded Langridge and his defenders.
The Snail slid to the ground, the rope was pulled from the cross, and the lads, coiling it up as they ran, hastened to the aid of their freshmen comrades.