"Yes," she said, and she came down from the upper part of the stand to join him. They walked off the field, both silent for a time, and Tom was wondering what would be the safest subject to talk about. But Miss Tyler spoke first. "You did fine work," she said. "I'm--I'm glad you got the chance to pitch." "So am I," declared Tom, "but I'm sorry for----" He did not know whether or not to mention his rival's name. But she understood. "So am I--I'm very sorry for him. It's all his horrid money that's doing it. He wants to be what the boys call a 'sport.' But he isn't. He's unfair to himself--to me. But I'm done with him! I shall never speak to him again." Tom was both glad and sorry. "Do you think you will win from Fairview?" asked the girl after a pause. "I think so." "I hope you do. I want to see that game, but I don't----" "Won't you let me take you?" asked Tom quickly. "We are going in a number of autos and there'll be lots of room." "Oh, I didn't mean to hint so broadly," she exclaimed, and her face crimsoned. "I was going to ask you, anyhow," declared Tom. "Will you go?" "Yes," she replied softly. "And help me to pitch to win," added Tom, and he tried to look into her face, but she averted her eyes. There was great celebrating in Randall that night. Some of the boys wanted to light historic bonfires along the river, which blazes were always kindled on great occasions, but Mr. Lighton reminded the lads that they had still to win the contest with Fairview before they would be champions, and he urged that the game was no easy one. So milder forms of making glad were substituted. Tom was the hero of the hour, and he felt that there had been made up to him everything that he had suffered in being kept so long on the scrub. It was dark in the apartments of Langridge. No one had seen him since the game and few cared about him. "He got just what was coming to him," declared Sid vindictively. "He'd have thrown the game for a drink of liquor and a cigarette. Pah! I've no use for such a chap." "Well, maybe he didn't mean to do it," replied Tom, who could afford to be generous. "He may have taken some to steady his nerves and it went to his head." "Rats! It ought to have gone to his pitching arm. But I've got to bone away. Exams are getting nearer and nearer every day, and the closer they come the less I seem to know about Latin. From now on I'm going to think, eat, sleep and dream in Latin."