CHAPTER III
PHIL GETS BAD NEWS
For a moment after he struck the bottom of the stairs, Fred Langridgeremained stretched out, making no move. Tom Parsons feared hisformer rival was badly hurt, and was about to call to Sid to go andinvestigate, when Langridge got up. His face showed the rage he felt,though it was characteristic of him that he first brushed the dust offhis clothes. He was nothing if not neat about his person.
"What did you do that for?" he cried to Tom.
"Do what?"
"Shove me down like that. I might have broken my neck. As it is, I'vewrenched my ankle."
"I didn't do it," said Tom. "If you'd stayed up where you were, until wegot past with the sofa, it wouldn't have happened. You shouldn't havetried to pass us."
"I shouldn't, eh? Well, I guess I've got as good a right on these stairsas you fellows have, with your musty old furniture. You oughtn't beallowed to have it. You deliberately pushed me down, Tom Parsons, andI'll fix you for it!" and Langridge limped about, exaggerating the hurtto his ankle.
"I didn't push you!" exclaimed Tom. "It was an accident that you jostledagainst me."
"I didn't jostle against you. You deliberately leaned against me to saveyourself from falling."
"I did not! And if you----"
"You brought it on yourself, Langridge," interrupted Phil. "You gotfresh and hit the sofa, and that made you lose your balance. It's yourown fault."
"You mind your business! When I want you to speak I'll address myremarks to you. I'm talking to Parsons now, and I tell him----"
"You needn't take the trouble to tell me anything," declared Tom. "Idon't want to hear you. I've told you it was an accident, and if youinsist that it was done purposely I have only to say that you areintimating that I am not telling the truth. In that case there can bebut one thing to do, and I'll do it as soon as I've gotten this sofainto our room."
There was an obvious meaning in Tom's words, and Langridge had notrouble in fathoming it. He did not care to come to a personal encounterwith Tom.
"Well, if you fellows hadn't been moving that measly old sofa in, thiswould never have happened," growled Langridge as he limped away. "Comeon, Gerhart. We'll find more congenial company."
"I guess I'll wait until they get the sofa out of the way," remarked thenew chum Langridge appeared to have picked up.
Tom, Sid and Phil resumed their journey, and the old piece of furniturewas carried to the upper hall. The stairs were clear, and Gerhartdescended. As he passed Tom he looked at him with something of a sneeron his face, and remarked:
"I'll lay you even money that Langridge can whip you in a fair fight."
"Why, you little freshie," exclaimed Phil, "fair fights are the onlykind we have at Randall! We don't have 'em very often, but every time wedo Tom puts the kibosh all over your friend Langridge. Another thing--itisn't healthy for freshies to bet too much. They might go broke," andwith these words of advice Phil caught up his end of the sofa and Tomthe other. It was soon in the room the three sophomore chums hadselected.
"Now for the chair and the rest of the truck," called Phil.
"Oh, let's rest a bit," suggested Sid, as he stretched out on the sofa.No sooner had he reached a reclining position than he sat up suddenly.
"Wow!" he cried. "What in the name of the labors of Hercules is that?"
He drew from the back of his coat a long nail.
"Why, I must have left it on the sofa when I fixed it," said Philinnocently. "I wondered what had become of it."
"You needn't wonder any longer," spoke Sid ruefully. "Tom, take a look,that's a good chap, and see if there's a very big hole in my back. Ithink my lungs are punctured."
"Not a bit of it, from the way you let out that yell," said Phil. "Thatwill teach you not to take a siesta during moving operations."
"Not much damage done," Tom reported with a laugh, as he inspected hischum's coat. "Come on now, let's get the rest of it done."
"Do you think it will be safe to leave the sofa here?" asked Sid."Perhaps I'd better stay and keep guard over it, while you fellows fetchthe rest of the things in."
"Well, listen to him!" burst out Phil. "What harm will come to it here?"
"Why, Langridge and that sporty new chum of his may slip in and damageit."
"Say, if they can damage this sofa any more than it is now, I'd like tosee them," spoke Tom. "I defy even the fingers of Father Time himself towork further havoc. No, most noble Anthony, the sofa will be perfectlysafe here."
"I wouldn't say as much for you, if Langridge gets a chance at you,"said Phil to Tom. "You know what tricks he played on you last term."
"Yes; but I guess he's had his lesson," remarked Tom. "Now come on, andwe'll finish up."
The three lads went back to the room formerly occupied by Sid and Tomduring their freshman year. The chums were pretty much of a size, andthey made an interesting picture as they strolled across the campus.
Tom Parsons had come to Randall College the term previous, from thetown of Northville, where his parents lived. He did not care to followhis father's occupation of farming, and so had decided on a collegeeducation, using part of his own money to pay his way.
As told in the first volume of this series, entitled "The RivalPitchers," Tom had no sooner reached Randall than he incurred the enmityof Fred Langridge, a rich youth from Chicago, who was manager of the'varsity ball nine, and also its pitcher. Tom had ambitions to fill thatposition himself, and as soon as Langridge learned this, he was morethan ever the enemy of the country lad.
Randall College was located near the town of Haddonfield, in one of ourmiddle Western States, and was on the shore of Sunny River, not far fromLake Tonoka. Within a comparatively short distance from Randall were twoother institutions of learning. One was Boxer Hall, and the otherFairview Institute, a co-educational academy. These three colleges hadformed the Tonoka Lake League in athletics, and the rivalry on thegridiron and diamond, as well as in milder forms of sport--rowing,tennis, basketball and hockey--ran high. When Tom arrived there was muchtalk of baseball, and Randall had a good nine in prospect. Her hopes rantoward winning the Lake League pennant in baseball, but as her nine hadbeen at the bottom of the list for several seasons, the chances weredubious.
After many hardships, not a few of which Langridge was responsible for,Tom got a chance to play on the 'varsity nine. Langridge was a goodpitcher, but he secretly drank and smoked, to say nothing of staying uplate nights to gamble; and so he was not in good form. When it came tothe crucial moment he could not "make good," and Tom was put in hisplace, in the pitching box, and by phenomenal work won the decidinggame. This made Randall champion of the baseball league, and Tom Parsonswas hailed as a hero, Langridge being supplanted as pitcher and manager.
But if Langridge and some of the latter's set were his enemies, Tom hadmany friends, not the least among whom were Phil Clinton and SidneyHenderson, to say nothing of Miss Madge Tyler. This young lady andLangridge were, at first, very good friends, but when Madge found outwhat sort of a chap the rich city youth was, she broke friendship withhim, and Tom had the pleasure of taking her to more than one collegeaffair. This, of course, did not add to the good feeling between Tom andLangridge.
With the winning of the championship game, baseball came practically toan end at Randall, as well as at the other colleges in the Tonoka LakeLeague, and a sort of truce was patched up between Tom and Langridge.The summer vacation soon came, and the students scattered to theirhomes. Tom and his two chums agreed to room together during the termwhich opens with this story, and it may be mentioned incidentallythat both Tom and Phil hoped to play on the football eleven. Philwas practically assured of a place, for he had played the game at apreparatory school, and had as good a reputation in regard to fillingthe position of quarter-back as Tom had in the pitching box.
It was due to a great catch which Phil made in the deciding championshipgame, almost as much as to Tom's wonderful pitching, that Randall hadthe banner, and Captain Holly Cross,
of the eleven, had marked Philfor one of his men during the season which was about to open on thegridiron.
"Now we'll take the old armchair over," proposed Tom, when he and hischums had reached the room they were vacating. "I guess I can managethat alone. You fellows carry some of the other paraphernalia."
Phil and Sid prepared to load themselves down with gloves, balls, bats,foils and various articles of sport. Before he left with the chair, Tomobserved Sid looking behind the door as if for something.
"It's not there, old man. I took it down," said the pitcher, and hepatted the pocket that held Madge Tyler's photograph. "You thought you'dmake me forget it, didn't you?"
"Do you mean to say you're going to stick girls' pictures up in our newroom?" asked Sid.
"Not girls' pictures, in general," replied Tom, "but one in particular."
"You make me tired!" exclaimed Sid, who cared little for femininesociety.
"You needn't look at it if you don't like," responded his chum. "But Icall her a pretty girl, don't you, Phil?"
"She's an all right looker," answered the other with such enthusiasmthat Tom glanced at him a trifle sharply.
"She's no prettier than Phil's sister," declared Sid.
"Have you a sister?" demanded Tom.
Phil bowed in assent.
"Why didn't you say so before?" asked Tom grumblingly.
"Because you never asked me."
"Where is she?"
"Going to Fairview this term, I believe."
"So is Madge--I mean Miss Tyler," burst out Tom. "I'd like to meet her,Phil; your sister, I mean."
"Say, you're a regular Mormon!" expostulated Sid. "If we're going to getthis moving done, let's do it, and not talk about girls. You fellowsmake me sick!"
"Wait until he gets bitten by the bug," said Tom with a laugh, as heshouldered the easy chair.
It took the lads several trips to transfer all their possessions, but atlast it was accomplished, and they sat in the new room in the midst of"confusion worse confounded," as Holly Cross remarked when he looked inon them. Their goods were scattered all over, and the three beds in theroom were piled high with them.
"It's a much nicer place than the old room," declared Tom.
"It will be when we get it fixed up," added Phil.
"I s'pose that means sticking a lot of girls' photos on the wall, someof those crazy banners they embroidered for you, a lot of ribbons, andsuch truck," commented Sid disgustedly. "I tell you fellows one thing,though, and that is if you go to cluttering up this room too much, I'llhave something to say. I'm not going to live in a cozy corner, nor yeta den. I want a decent room."
"Oh, you can have one wall space to decorate in any style you like,"said Tom.
"Yes; he'll probably adopt the early English or the late French style,"declared Phil, "and have nothing but a calendar on it. Well, every oneto his notion. Hello, the alarm clock has stopped," and he began toshake it vigorously.
"Easy with it!" cried Tom. "Do you want to jar the insides loose?"
"You can't hurt this clock," declared Phil, and, as if to prove hiswords, the fussy little timepiece began ticking away again, as loudlyand insistingly as ever. "Well, let's get the room into some decent kindof shape, and then I'm going out and see what the prospects are forfootball," he went on. "I want to make that quarter-back position if Ihave to train nights and early mornings."
"Oh, you'll get it, all right," declared Tom. "I wish I was as sure of aplace as you are. I believe----"
He was interrupted by a knock at the door. Sid opened it. In the hallstood one of the college messengers.
"Hello, Wallops; what have you there?" asked Tom.
"Telegram for Mr. Phil Clinton."
"Hand it over," spoke Sid, taking the envelope from the youth."Probably it's a proposition for him to manage one of the big collegefootball teams."
As Wallops, who, like nearly everything and every one else about thecollege had a nickname, departed down the corridor, Phil opened themissive. It was brief, but his face paled as he read it.
"Bad news?" asked Tom quickly.
"My mother is quite ill, and they will have to operate on her to saveher life," said Phil slowly.
A Quarter-Back's Pluck: A Story of College Football Page 3
