Tom kept at his practice, but he was more than glad when he could resume his class work again and take his place on the second nine. "Now we'll tackle work together," said the coach one afternoon to Tom, for Mr. Lighton had not been allowed to give him directions during the suspension weeks. "I hope you haven't gone stale, Parsons." "I hope not. Kerr and I have been sort of practicing together." "That's good. I hope, before the season is over, that you and he will go into a regular game together. If not, you'll have your 'innings' next year, if you progress as you have been doing." Tom was glad of the praise, but he would have been more glad of a chance to get on the 'varsity. Still he determined to do his best on the scrub, but it was hard and rather thankless work. Mr. Lighton put him through a hard course of "sprouts" that afternoon. With some members of the scrub to bat against him, Tom sent in swift and puzzling balls, for all the while his ability to curve was increasing and his control was improving. That afternoon he struck out six men in succession, retiring them without having given any one of them more than two balls. It was very good work, and the fact that the men were not extraordinary good hitters did not detract from it. "That's fine!" cried Mr. Lighton enthusiastically. "I'm going to----" But what he was going to do he did not say. "They ought to make you substitute pitcher on the 'varsity team," was the opinion of Dutch Housenlager when the practice was over. "Rod Evert isn't one-two-six with you, and he doesn't do any practicing to speak of." "Maybe he feels that he doesn't have to, for Langridge seems to make good nearly every time," spoke Tom. "Aw, rats! All that keeps Langridge manager is his money. He certainly runs the financial end of the game to perfection. And if he wasn't manager he wouldn't be pitcher. But the fellows know he takes a lot of responsibility from them, and they're just easy enough to let things slide. Some day we'll be up against it. Langridge will be knocked out of the box, Evert won't be in form, and we'll lose the game." "Unless they call on 'yours truly,'" interjected Tom with a laugh. "Exactly," agreed Dutch seriously. "That's my point. I wish they'd name you for sub. I'm going to ask----" "No, no!" expostulated Tom quickly. "If I can't get there on my own merits, I don't want it. No favors, please. I can wait." "Well, just as you say, of course. But say, there's the Grasshopper. Watch me make him jump." He pointed to Pete Backus, a tall student, who seemed to be measuring off a certain distance on a grassy stretch down near the river. "Looks as if he was going to jump without you making him," observed Tom. "Oh, he's always jumping. He thinks he's great at it. Wants to make the track team, but he can't seem to do it. He'll do his distance easily one day and fall down the next. You can't depend on him. But I'll make him jump now. Sneak down behind those bushes."