Meanwhile Holly had reached third, though the decision was close. He died there, for the next man struck out, retiring the side, and making the score five to four, in favor of Randall, though with Wescott still to have a chance in the ending of the ninth. The third baseman made all sorts of apologies to Sid, who indeed had a nasty cut, for a spike had gone through the outer, fleshy part of his foot. It was so evidently an accident, however, that nothing unpleasant was said, though Sid could not play, and had to be replaced by Pete Backus. There was a grim look on Tom's face as he took his place in the box, and it was justified, for he struck out two men. The third knocked what seemed was going to be a nice hit, but Pete Backus caught it, though he had to jump well for it, a feat for which his training stood him well in hand. "Wow! We've done 'em!" cried Tom, when he realized that the third Wescott man was out, without a run having been scored by their rivals in the last inning. "We sure have," agreed Mr. Leighton. "Poor Sid, though. He'll be out of it for a few days." "I don't care, as long as we won the game," spoke the plucky lad, as he limped along, his foot having been dressed, and peroxide applied, to prevent blood poisoning. "It was a glorious victory," sang Holly Cross, the others joining in, after cheers had been given for Wescott, and returned by those fine-spirited lads. It was a jolly crowd that journeyed back to Randall next day, with the Wescott scalps hanging at their belts. "It was just what Sid wanted," decided Tom to Phil as he noted the lively look on the second baseman's face, for he was jolly and laughing, in spite of the pain of his injured foot. There was a great celebration in Randall when the victorious team marched up the campus that night, and bonfires galore glared all around. "A feast to-night," decided a crowd of the team's most enthusiastic supporters. "Sid Henderson will be toastmaster, on account of his great work." But Sid, who had limped to his room to change his clothes, shook his head. "Why not?" asked Tom and Phil in surprise. "Because I--I've got to go away to-night," and Sid tried to conceal a letter in his hand--a letter which he had found awaiting him when he returned from Wescott with his chums. CHAPTER XI A JOKE ON THE PROCTOR For a moment neither Tom nor Phil answered. There was an embarrassed silence, but it only affected the three chums, for all about them was a rollicking, shouting crowd of students intent on arranging for a celebration in honor of the nine, and Sid--the player who had done so much to help win. "Have you _got_ to go?" asked Tom, in a low voice. "Can't you put it off, Sid?" "I've got to go. I can't put it off," was the reply, as Sid turned and limped away. "Oh, I say! Where's he going?" demanded Snail Looper. "We want to form a procession and carry him."