"What question? Oh, blazes, Tom, I thought you'd gone to sleep. But say, why don't you come right out and say what you mean? Do you know any member of the crew who's doing that?" "No, I don't. I told you this was a supposititious case. But, if there was one, what would you do?" "Well, I'll give you a supposititious answer." Sid closed his eyes. The fussy little alarm clock seemed to be counting time for him while he made up his mind. "Why don't you tell the fellow yourself?" asked Sid so suddenly that Tom jumped. "Would you?" he asked. Sid arose. He came and stood close to his chum. Then he spoke. "There be certain things, son," he said with an assumed serious air which was more than half real, "certain things that, in college, one might better ignore. If, perchance, however, one is so constituted morally that one can't; if the laws of the Medes and the Persians are so immutable that one can't rest--why, my young philosopher, take the easiest course so long as you are true to your own motto, _Dulce et decorum est pro alma mater mori_. There, I don't know whether I've got the Latin right, but it says what I mean--tell the other fellow first--Tom," and with that he went over, picked up his trigonometry and fell to studying. It was not an easy fight that Tom had with himself that night. He went all over the ground: the arrogance of Langridge, the scene in the dressing-room, the pungent odor of liquor and then his knowledge of it. Was it fair to the team to let the members be in ignorance of the fact that their pitcher took stimulants secretly--that he had done it before? For Tom was sure it was not the first time. Would it not mean, in the end, that Randall would lose some deciding game and the championship? Tom thought so and determined that it was his duty to do something. The question was, what? In a measure Sid had solved this for him, and before he fell asleep that night Tom determined to expostulate with Langridge the first chance he got. It came sooner than he expected. There was a game with Boxer Hall on the grounds of the latter university and it was expected to be a hard one, which expectation was not unfulfilled. For the first few innings Randall seemed to have the contest well in hand. Then, during a few minutes when his side was at bat, Langridge disappeared into the dressing-room. With a heart that beat harder than usual Tom quietly followed. He was just in time to see Langridge putting away a bottle that gave out the characteristic odor. "Don't do that!" cried Tom quickly, but in a low voice. He was hardly conscious of what he was saying. Langridge wheeled around and faced him. "Don't do what?" he asked sharply, his face flushed. "Take that liquor to brace you up. You'll only pitch the worse for it, and it's not fair to the team." Langridge took a step toward Tom.