The Rival Pitchers/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX
A GAME OF ANOTHER SORT
"Oh!" screamed Miss Tyler. "He'll be drowned! Save him, some one!"
There was much commotion on the float. The crowd surged to the edge and it tilted dangerously.
"Get back! get back!" cried Dan Woodhouse. "Get a boathook, some one!"
"We will!" cried the Jersey twins, and together they darted for the place where the rowing craft were stored.
Langridge seemed stupefied at the result of his act. He stood there, peering down into the water beneath which Tom had disappeared.
"Get back, I tell you! Get back!" yelled Woodhouse. "We can't get him out if you tilt the float so. We'll all be in the water!"
Understanding this, the crowd of lads and girls moved back. Captain Woodhouse was peering over the edge of the dock, looking for a sight of Tom, and meanwhile was taking off his coat and vest, preparatory to a plunge in.
"There he is! I see his head!" suddenly cried Miss Tyler, and she pointed to a dark object barely visible in the shadows that were settling down over the river.
"I'll get him!" cried Langridge thickly, but he could not seem to unbutton his coat.
"Look out!" cried a voice, and a tall, lithe figure, clad only in a rowing jersey and trunks, pattered in bare feet down the length of the float.
"It's Fenmore!" exclaimed several, and the tall sophomore, who had been out in a single shell and who, arriving at the float, had understood what had happened, plunged in. He swam quickly to Tom, who seemed bewildered and unable to help himself. But, if he was dazed, which they later found to be the case, he had sense enough to let Fenmore rescue him in the proper fashion and was soon being lifted out on the float. His face was pale and blood from a cut on his forehead trickled down one cheek.
"Much hurt?" asked Dan Woodhousc as he put his arms about Tom.
"No—not—not much," gasped the rescued one. "I hit my head on the edge and that dazed me. I couldn't strike out, and I swallowed some—some water," he gulped.
"Can you walk?"
"Sure. I'm all right now," but Tom began to shiver, for the evening had turned cool and the water was not yet right for bathing.
"Here, take my cloak for him!" exclaimed Miss Tyler, impulsively holding out a thin wrap which was more for appearance than utility. "It will keep him warm."
"It will ruin it," declared Tom. "I'm as wet as a rat."
"No matter!" cried the girl imperiously, and she tried to wrap it about Tom's shoulders.
"Here are some sweaters," said the more practical Kindlings. "Now run up to the infirmary, Tom, get into a hot bath and throw some hot lemonade into you."
Tom prepared to start off and Miss Tyler had taken back her cloak. She went closer to Tom.
"I'm awfully sorry. It was all on my account," she said. "I hope you will be all right."
"Su—sure I'll—I'll be all—all right," declared Tom, though his teeth chattered in spite of himself, for he had sustained a nervous shock.
"I'll inquire for you to-morrow," she added with a smile as she turned aside.
"I say, old man, I'm afraid I pushed you in, but I didn't mean to—'pon my soul!" exclaimed Langridge earnestly as he edged up to Tom.
"All—all right—it doesn't matter—now," answered Tom, and then his chums rushed him up to the college, where a warm bath and drinks were soon effectively administered. No bad results attended the unexpected plunge, and that night Tom was able to join in the celebration that followed the winning of the ball game, when many bonfires blazed and the students were allowed more license than usual.
It was about a week later when, following a rather hard series of games between the scrub and 'varsity teams in which Tom had strained his arm, Coach Lighton advised him to get a new kind of liniment to rub on it. It could only be had in a certain store in town, and, obtaining permission to go there on condition that he return to college before nine o'clock, Tom started off alone one evening. Sid had to make up some lessons he was "shaky" on, and though he wanted to take the walk, he did not feel that he dared spare the time.
On his way to the drug store Tom passed the side entrance of a certain resort much patronized by the "sporty" class of students. Several lads were in there, as Tom could tell by the snatches of college songs that floated out, and as he got opposite the place the door swung open to give entrance to others and Tom saw Langridge sitting at a table with several flashily dressed lads. They were playing cards and glasses of some sort of liquor stood at their elbows, while most of them, including Langridge, were smoking cigarettes.
"He's broken training with a vengeance!" exclaimed Tom in a low voice as he hurried on. "Cigarettes are the limit!"
Tom tried not to think about what he had seen as he went on to the drug store and had his prescription filled. He had to wait some little time for it and as he came out he noticed by a clock that he would have to hurry if he wanted to get back to college in time.
He started off briskly and just as he got in front of the side door of the resort the portal opened and several lads came out. Langridge was with them, and all were somewhat worse for the lively evening they had spent. The 'varsity pitcher, who seemed strangely hilarious, caught sight of Tom.
"Well, if there ain't my deadly rival!" he cried in what was intended to be a friendly manner, but which was silly. "Hello, Parsons! Come in and have a cigarette!"
"No," was the answer in conciliatory tones. "I'm in a hurry to get back to the college. My time's nearly up."
"So's mine—so's all of us. But what's the odds? We've got to have a good time once in a while, eh, fellows?"
"Sure," came the chorus.
"I can't smoke, I'm in training," spoke Tom, intending it to be a hint, if not to Langridge, at least to his companions.
"So'm I, you old hunk of fried tripe! Have a smoke."
"No," and Tom started on.
"Hold on!" cried Langridge. "I'll go with you. I'm going to shake you fellows," and he waved his hand to his companions. Tm going to be virtuous and go to bed with the larks. I wonder if larks do go to bed, anyhow."
"You mean chickens," declared one of the others with a laugh. "Come on then, fellows, if Langridge goes back, we'll stay and have some more fun."
Tom was not unwilling to play the good Samaritan, so linking his arm in that of Langridge, he led him down the street. The 'varsity pitcher was not as steady on his feet as he should have been.
"I—I s'pose you'll tell Kindlings and Lighten about me, eh, what?" he asked brokenly as he walked along.
"No," said Tom quietly. "But you ought to cut it out, Langridge, if not for your own sake for the sake of the team."
"That's right, that's right, old man, I ought. You're a good sort of chap, too preachy maybe, but all right. I ought to cut it out, but I like fun."
"You ought to give up smoking and drinking," went on Tom boldly. He had determined that this was just the chance he wanted and decided that he would take advantage of it.
"There you go again! there you go again!" cried Langridge fretfully, with a sudden change of manner peculiar to him. "Don't go to lecturing. I get enough of that from Moses and Pitchfork. Give us a rest. I'm all right. Have another cigarette."
"No," and Tom declined the proffered one.
"Oh, I forgot you don't smoke. That's right. It's bad for the heart. I don't take 'em only once in a while."
Tom tried to reason with him, but Langridge was not himself and answered pertly or else insulted Tom for his good offices.
"You ought to give up gambling, too," Tom said, starting on a new tack. They were nearing the college now.
"There you go again! there you go again!" exclaimed Langridge and he was almost crying, silly in his excitement.
He sat down on a stone along the road and lighted another cigarette.
"Now let's argue this thing out," he said. "I feel just like arguing, Parsons. Guess we'll call you 'dominie,' you're so fond of preaching. Let's argue."
Tom tried to urge him to come on. It was getting late and only by running could they reach college and report before the prescribed hour, nine o'clock. But Langridge was obstinate and would not come. Tom did not want to leave him, for he had heard that Langridge did not stand any too well with the faculty, and a few more demerits would mean that he would have to give up athletics. So Tom determined that, if possible, he would get the foolish lad within bounds in time.
But it was a useless undertaking, and Tom heard nine strokes boom out on the chapel bell when they were some distance from college.
"That cooks our goose!" he exclaimed. "It doesn't so much matter for me, as it's the first time, but Langridge will suffer if he's caught in this plight."
He redoubled his persuasive powers and by dint of much talk at length induced Langridge to get up and come on. But it was half-past nine now and it was twenty minutes to ten, when, with his arm linked in that of the lad he was trying to save in spite of himself, Tom walked up the campus to get to the dormitory.
The watchman opened the door at his knock. Langridge had slipped behind Tom and stood in the deep shadow.
"After hours," said the man simply. "You will report to the proctor to-morrow morning, Mr. Parsons."
"Yes," replied Tom simply. Langridge was moving uneasily about in the shadows on the stone steps.
"Any one with you, Mr. Parsons?"
"Well—er—that is"
The watchman started to go out, thinking to catch several students. At that instant Langridge, with a cunning evidently born of long experience, circled around Tom on the opposite side to that on which the watchman stood and darted down a small areaway that led to the basement.
"Ha! trying to hide!" exclaimed the guardian of the door. "I'll find out who you are!"
In the darkness he went down into the areaway. A moment later Langridge had roughly upset him there, and before the man could gain his feet, the pitcher had sprinted up the steps and into the open door of the dormitory and thence along the corridor to his room. The watchman had not had a glimpse of his face.
The man came panting up the steps.
"Who—who was that with you, Mr. Parsons?" he demanded sternly as he rubbed his bruised shins.
Tom took a sudden resolve. There might be a chance for Langridge to escape.
"I'm not going to tell," he said firmly but respectfully.
"Very well," he replied. "You must report to Mr. Zane in the morning. I'll inform him of this outrage. He'll make you tell who was with you."
"I don't believe he will," thought Tom as he went to his room.