The celebration went on the better part of the evening, and when Phil and Tom got to their room Sid was not there. He came in later, narrowly missing detection by the proctor, and said little. He was limping quite badly.
"Not much better," answered Sid. "I shouldn't have gone out to-night, only--I had to."
He was dead lame the next day, and for two days after that had to stay in bed, his place on the nine, in practice games, being taken by Pete Backus, who did not do half badly.
The game with Fairview was approaching and it was likely to be a severely-contested one. Tom was a little anxious but seemed more at ease when Dr. Marshall, the college physician, gave it as his opinion that Sid could play, his foot having almost healed.
"And you've got to bat as you did before too, old sport," insisted Tom, with a laugh. "Why didn't you spring that left-hand racket before?"
"Well, you see I wasn't at all sure of it. When I was a kid I always batted left handed. Then I broke my shoulder and I had to bat right handed after it mended, for it was stiff. Then later I found I could bat either way, but I favored right, until lately, when I began practicing left again."
"We'll keep you for a pinch hitter," declared Tom. "I must revise the batting order, and get you up first, after this."
Sid got into practice a few days before the Fairview game, but was so stiff that it was decided to have some one run for him, after he had gotten to first.
The day before the game, when Sid, Phil and Tom were in their room, Sid putting some strips of adhesive plaster on his lame foot, there came a cautious knock at the door. Dutch Housenlager was at once admitted.
"Are you fellows game?" was his first question.
"Oh, we're always ready for that!" exclaimed Sid. "He has caught me once this term, and nearly twice. What's the joke?"
"I'll explain," went on Dutch, fairly bubbling over with mirth. "Only you fellows may have to stand for part of it."
"How?" asked Tom. "We'll do our share, of course."
"We want to use one of your windows for part of the trick. May we?"
"Sure," answered Phil. "We'll stand for anything short of setting fire to the college, and we'll throw in a hazing of Pitchfork if it's possible."
"Oh, he'll get his some day," replied Dutch, "but just now we're after Zane. Here's a cord. When you hear three tree-toad whistles down below, lower it from your window, and then at two tugs haul up."