Chapter XXXII: Tom Gets a Tip

It lacked but two days of the big game with Boxer Hall. The Randall eleven had bucked against the scrub until that aggregation of substitutes was weary, worn and sore. For the 'varsity team was now a magnificent fighting machine. The men played together like clock-work, and were a joy to the heart of Coach Lighton. As for Holly Cross, no captain was ever prouder of an eleven than he was. The ends were fast, the backs could go through the line for gains every time, guards, tackles and Snail Looper at center were like a wall of flesh. The punting, while not all that could be desired, was good, and several trick plays had been worked up well nigh to perfection against the scrub. How they would work against Boxer Hall was yet to be seen.

But if Randall was in fine shape for the coming struggle on the gridiron, so was Boxer Hall. Reports from that institution showed that the eleven was the best that had been turned out in many a season, and by comparing the games played by Randall (the loss of one game to Fairview and the winning of the other) and those played by Boxer Hall against the same teams, an expert would have been hard put to pick the winner of the championship struggle.

"But we're going to win, fellows!" cried Tom after two halves of hard practice. "Aren't we, Phil, old chap?"

"Of course," was the rather quiet answer.

"How's your mother, Phil?" asked Holly Cross. "I hope she is getting better."

"I haven't heard for two days," replied the quarter-back, and his face showed a little worry.

"Well, she must be all right, or your father would have wired," went on Dutch Housenlager. "My, but I'm tired!" he added.

"Don't go stale," cautioned the coach. "I think I can let up a bit on you fellows now. We'll have only light practice to-morrow, and the morning of the game we'll do some kicking and run through the signals. Don't forget to listen for the word to change the system. We may have to do it if they get on to our curves, so to speak. But I don't believe they will. And don't forget that the signals for trick plays have been altered a bit. Also remember the tip for the sequence plays. I depend on them for at least one touch-down. Now amuse yourselves some quiet way to-night. Get to bed early, and sleep well. I hope none of you have any lessons to worry over."

"We'll not let study worry us, no matter what happens, until after the game!" cried Grasshopper Backus. "Wow! But what a celebration there'll be if we win! The baseball championship, and then the football on top of it! Wow!" and Grasshopper gave a leap into the air to show how exuberant he felt. But Dutch Housenlager slyly put out his foot, and Grasshopper went down in a heap.

"I'll punch your head for that, Dutch!" he cried, springing up; but Dutch, in spite of his bulk, was a good runner, and got away.

"Well, I suppose you gladiators are all ready for the fray," spoke Sid that evening, when Phil and Tom were in the room, one on the sofa and the other curled up in the easy chair. Sid was stretched out on his bed.

"Ready to do or die," answered Tom. "I hope it's a nice day."

"Why, you don't mind playing in the rain, do you?" asked Sid. "I thought you chaps were regular mudlarks."

"So we are," went on Tom. "Only I want to see a good crowd out. It's more enthusiastic."

"I know what you want," declared Sid. "You want a lot of girls from Fairview Institute to be on hand. And, what's more, you want some particular girl to see you make a star play. So does Phil, I'll wager."

"Well, from what I hear there will be a good crowd of Fairview girls to see the game," said Phil. "Fairview is sore at being walloped twice by Boxer Hall, and the co-eds want to see us put it all over that crowd. So they'll be on hand to cheer us."

"Are you sure?" asked Tom.

"Sure--Ruth told me," went on Phil. "Oh, it will be a glorious occasion! Don't you wish you were playing, Sid?"

"Not for a minute! Baseball for mine! When I want to wallow in the mud and get my mouth and ears full of it, I know an easier way than playing football."

"Yes; go out with a camera and get stuck in the swamp!" cried Tom, and he got up, ready to dodge any missile which Sid might heave at him in revenge for having his misadventure recalled. But the naturalist only answered:

"That's all right. I got the best picture of a fox you ever saw. The mud will come off."

"Oh, you're a hopeless case!" exclaimed Phil as he got up and began to change his clothes, laying out a particularly "sporty" necktie.

"Hello!" exclaimed Tom in some surprise. "Where are you going?"

"Out," replied his chum noncommittally.

"I thought you were told to stay in and take it easy to-night," said Sid.

"Well, I'm not going to any exciting place," came from Phil as he struggled with a stiff collar. "I'll be in early."

"Going to town?" asked Tom.

"Not Haddonfield."

"Where?"

"I'll bet he's going to see some girl!" exclaimed Sid. "He's got perfume on his handkerchief, and he never wears that tie unless there's a damsel in the offing."

"Well, I don't mind admitting that there is a young lady in the case," spoke Phil. "I'm going to call on my sister, and you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, you hard-shelled old misogynist!"

"I thought so!" cried Sid. "I knew it. But tell that yarn about your sister to your grandmother. It's somebody else's sister you're going to see. You'd never tog up like this for your own sister."

"Maybe," admitted Phil coolly as he finished dressing.

As he stooped over to lace his shoes an envelope fell from his pocket. Tom picked it up and handed it to him. He could not help seeing the address, and, with something like a start, he noticed that it was in the handwriting of Madge Tyler. He handed it to Phil without a word, and he noticed that a dull red crept up under the bronze skin of his chum's face. But Phil shoved the note into his pocket and made no comment.

"He's going to see her--Madge," thought Tom, and he tried to struggle against the bitter feeling that seemed to well up in his heart.

"Leave the door unlocked," was Phil's parting injunction as he went out. "I'll be in early."

"Girls, girls, girls!" grumbled Sid as he rolled over to a more comfortable position. "I'll be hanged if I room with you fellows next term if you don't go a bit easier on this dame question. You don't give me any attention at all. It's all football and the ladies."

"It will soon be over," murmured Tom.

"Which; football or the ladies?"

"Football," was the answer, given with a laugh.

Sid was asleep when Phil came quietly in, but Tom was wide awake. Still, he said nothing as Phil went about, getting ready for bed, and when his chum came close to him, Tom shut his eyes and feigned slumber. There was something coming between Tom and Phil. Both realized it, yet neither liked to broach the subject, for it was a delicate one.

"Well, how was your sister?" asked Sid pointedly of Phil the next morning.

"Very well," replied Phil calmly. "By the way, Tom, she was asking for you."

"Yes," answered Tom, and there was coldness in his tones. He did not wait for Phil to go to lectures with him after chapel, but hurried off alone, and Phil, feeling humiliated, wondered if he had done or said anything to hurt Tom's feelings. Tom took care to keep out of Phil's way all that day, and when the last practice was over, save for some light work the morning of the game, the left-end hurried to his room. As he entered it he saw a note thrust under the door. He picked it up. It was addressed to him, and an odd feature of it was that the letters were all printed.

"Who brought this here?" he asked of Sid, who was studying his biology.

"Didn't know anybody had brought anything."

"Some one shoved this note under the door for me," went on Tom, ripping open the missive. He could not repress a start as he read, in the same printed letters that were on the envelope, this message:

"There is danger threatening Phil Clinton. Watch for it."

"Anything wrong?" asked Sid.

"No--no," spoke Tom slowly, as he tore the note into bits and tossed them into a basket. "It's just a tip, that's all, but I guess it doesn't amount to anything."

He walked over to the old sofa and sat down. His brain was in a whirl. What danger could threaten Phil? Whence had come the mysterious warning?

"It doesn't amount to anything," thought Tom. "If it had, who ever sent it would have signed his name. It's meant as a joke. I'll pay no attention to it. I'll not tell Phil. It might worry him. Besides, I guess he can look out for himself," and Tom shrugged his shoulders.

Ah, Tom, would you have said that but for what had happened in the last few weeks? But for the fact that Phil and a certain pretty girl had become fast friends? Tom felt those questions arising in his mind, but he put them resolutely from him. He did not want to answer them. He went over to the basket and carefully picked out the torn bits of the note. He thrust them into his pocket. Sid watched him curiously, but said nothing. He thought the note was from some girl.

Phil came in a little later. Tom was busy studying, and hardly looked up; nor did he say anything about the warning he had so mysteriously received.