“Where’s my blue tie?” cried Tom, tumbling about the things on his bureau. “Have you seen it, Phil?”
“Well, I like your nerve! Yes, I used it as a shoe polishing rag,” remarked Phil sarcastically. “You’ll find it on the blue-tie hook, I should say. Why don’t you look there.”
“Blue-tie hook?” queried Tom.
“Yes. You’re such an orderly chap,” added Phil, as he looked at his chum’s disordered side of the room, “that I supposed you had a hook for each tie.”
“Oh, cut it out,” advised Tom, making a perfect shower with a rainbow effect of colored silks, as he looked in vain for the blue article of adornment.
“I don’t know where in blazes your blue tie is,” went on Phil, as he gazed with a puzzled air into a box on his dresser; “but I’d like to know where my garnet cuff buttons are. Have you been sporting ’em, Sid?”
“Me? No!” answered the other chum, who was quietly dressing, a task which Tom and Phil seemed to think called for more or less elaborate effort. “But, say, what’s getting into you chaps, anyhow? You’re togging up as much for the soph picnic as though it was a frat. dance. Are there some damsels in the offing?”
“Oh, there are always girls to these affairs,” carelessly spoke Tom, as he opened another drawer and began tumbling about his collars and cuffs. “Hang it all, whereisthat tie, anyhow.”
“I s’pose nothing but a baby-blue one would suit your fair complexion,” remarked Phil, glancing at Tom, who was as brown as an Indian from his out-door life.
“It will suit me as well as your cute little garnet cuff buttons will you. I never saw such a fusser! Ah, there’s the tie. I remember now, I put it there to hide it away from you chaps,” and Tom pulled out a gorgeous affair of silk from inside a cuff.
“Speak for yourself, you old fossil!” retorted Phil, who just then discovered his cuff buttons marking a place in his Ovid. “Wonder how in blazes they got there?” he murmured, as he proceeded to put them in his cuffs, while Tom was busy trying to make just the proper knot with the blue tie.
“Why are you fellows togging up so?” demandedSid. “Are you going to take some girls, as well as meet some there?” And, for the first time he seemed to entertain some suspicions of his friends.
“Oh, well, Ruth wanted to go,” said Phil, as indifferently as he could, “and Tom and I promised to——”
“I suppose Miss Tyler is going?” asked Sid quietly.
“Yes,” assented Tom, his face flushing under its bronze coat, though possibly it was from his exertion in pulling his tie into place.
“And so is Miss Harrison,” went on Phil, with a desperate effort, as if desirous of getting the worst over. “But you don’t need to worry,” he added, as he saw Sid sit limply down in a chair. “She probably won’t see you, so there need be no embarrassment. I thought it was a pity to have her miss it, especially as Ruth and Madge are going, and she rooms with them. We thought you wouldn’t mind, old fellow, but we weren’t going to tell you.”
“So that’s what you’ve been so mysterious about these last few days,” commented Sid. “I thought something was up. Of course it’s all right. I sha’n’t annoy Miss Harrison, only—Oh, what’s the use!” and he went on with his preparations.
It was the morning of the day of the annual sophomore picnic, and there was much excitement,especially in the ranks of the second-year men, and the more or less numerous fair ones who counted on being taken to the charming little island in the middle of Lake Tonoka. The affair was always held at this season of the year, when there was no danger of an attack from the freshmen students, who, by this time, had settled down into something approaching dignity.
“You’re not going to back out, because she—Miss Harrison—is coming, are you?” asked Phil, as he saw Sid cease his arrangements for dressing.
“No—no—of course not. I was just—just thinking. I’ll take my camera and specimen box along, and do a little work in biology and nature study. I need a little freshening up for the final exams. I probably won’t see much of you chaps.”
Phil and Tom departed ahead of Sid, who busied himself with his camera, his specimen box and his cyanide bottle, with which latter he painlessly killed such bugs and butterflies as he captured.
“We’ll see you later,” called Tom, as, with his blue tie very much in evidence, he and Phil went to get the girls.
A picnic is pretty much the same the world over, even if it is gotten up by a college crowd, and the one on Crest Island was no exception. There was the usual screaming of the girls whenthe boats tipped, and the usual strolling in shady nooks by youths and maidens, there was fun galore and happiness on all sides, for the day was perfect.
Madge Tyler, Ruth Clinton and Mabel Harrison were walking along with Phil and Tom, having just come in from a ride around the lake in a motor launch.
“What shall we do now?” asked Ruth.
“We’ll soon have the pleasure of seeing some ants do a waltz or a two-step in the butter,” announced Tom. “I see the waiters getting the tables ready,” for a caterer had been hired by the students to provide luncheon.
“How interesting,” remarked Madge. “Suppose we go over there in the shade——” She paused suddenly, and with a little gesture to Ruth went on hurriedly: “Oh, no, let’s go this way.”
“That’s too sunny,” objected Mabel. “I’d rather go over in the shade, and——”
She, too, stopped, and then she saw what had made her chum hesitate. Sid Henderson was approaching them on a path which had no turn in it, as they had passed the only one just as Madge tried to branch off. There was no help for it. Sid was creeping up with his camera, intent on getting a picture of a large butterfly that had alighted on a flower, and, as yet, he had not seen the little party.
Miss Harrison was at once aware that her two girl chums had endeavored to save her the embarrassment of meeting Sid, but it was too late to turn back gracefully now, and with an admirable assumption of calmness the girl said:
“Oh, isn’t it interesting! I hope Mr. Henderson gets his picture. I did not know he was a naturalist.”
Tom and Phil both breathed easier. It seemed that Miss Harrison would not “cut” Sid after all. Perhaps their precautions had been useless.
They were not aware that a girl can sometimes, under force of circumstances, assume a part she does not feel. It was this way with Mabel Harrison. She did not want to meet Sid, but she was too cultured to cause his friends sorrow by refusing to notice his presence. So, with somewhat heightened color, she stood in the group composed of her chums, Phil and Tom, and watched the young naturalist coming nearer and nearer. So intent was Sid on getting the picture that he had not, as yet, seen his chums or the girls.
There was a click of the camera, and, a moment later, after the exposure had been made, the gorgeous butterfly sailed gracefully off through the air.
“Did you get it?” called out Tom, and Sid looked up.
“Yes,” he replied. “A fine and rare specimen.” Then he saw Miss Harrison, and halted in his approach, which he had begun. But, he also, was too proud to turn back now, and came on. The others advanced toward him, and Miss Harrison was just bowing, coolly perhaps, but with a show of cordiality, when from the bushes there stepped a gaily attired youth, whom neither Phil, Tom, nor either of the girls seemed to know.
“Hello, Sid, old chap!” greeted the newcomer in easy but rather too loud tones. “I’ve been trying to pipe you off for ever so long. Looked all over for you. Say, this place is dead slow. Not even so much as a ring-cane game. What makes you college sports come here? It’s too dead for me. But I’ve found a bunch of good things. Come on over and we’ll have a little poker, and I’ll depend on you to——”
The sportily dressed youth paused, for Sid had started back with horror at the sight of him, and had made an unmistakable gesture of caution.
“What’s the matter?” went on the flashily attired one. “Ain’t I good enough to speak to you? Or maybe you think the dames give me the fussers. Not a bit of it. Pleased to meet you, girls,” and he made pert bows to the three young ladies, who returned them with mere nods, forthey expected to learn that the new arrival was a friend of Sid’s, however undesirable he might seem.
“How came you here? What do you want?” demanded Sid, and the hand that held the camera trembled.
“I came after you,” was the answer. “Called up at the brain factory, and they told me the whole bunch of second year boys were off on a chowder party, so I took a boat and came here. I thought I’d have some sport, but it’s dead slow. Come on, and I’ll show you some fun. I’ve got a deck of cards and——”
Sid was quickly at the side of the sporty one, and uttered something in a hoarse whisper.
“Oh, that’s all right then, don’t mind me,” came the answer, and the youth leered at the girls. Tom was with difficulty keeping down his anger, while Phil was hopelessly wondering who on earth Sid’s acquaintance could be.
Miss Harrison, who had started to greet Sid, drew back and there was a look of disgust on her face. She turned aside, and started back.
“Don’t go away—I like your style,” called the sporty lad. “We need another lady as it is. Don’t go away.”
“Keep quiet!” begged Sid desperately. “I’ll go with you. Come on,” and, to the surprise of his friends, Sid turned into the woods, and followedthe youth, who impudently took off his hat and threw kisses to the girls, as they turned their backs. Miss Harrison had disappeared around a turn in the path.
For a moment no one knew what to do or say. Tom was nervously kicking at the pebbles in the path, while Phil got out his knife and began whittling a stick furiously. As usual it was the girls who saved the situation.
“I suppose he’s gone off to get some more pictures,” said Madge, with a nervous little laugh. “Come on, Ruth, we mustn’t let Mabel go back there all alone. After all, I don’t believe we want to go sit in the shade. Isn’t dinner almost ready? I’m nearly famished, boys.”
“Yes, bring on the butter, ants and all,” added Ruth.
“All right, just as you say,” responded Phil, with a quick look at Tom, who rather avoided the glance, for he was sorely puzzled. “I dare say grub is ready. We’ll dine beneath the greenwood tree, from whence all care shall banished be.”
“Bravo!” cried Miss Tyler. “You never told me your brother was a poet, Ruth.”
“He doesn’t know it himself,” commented his sister dryly. “Oh, there’s Mabel. Wait!” she called, and the girl in advance turned. There was a troubled look in her blue eyes, but otherwise she was calm.
“Isn’t it perfectly charming in the woods,” she remarked. “I wish Fairview College was nearer the lake.”
“Oh, we’ll come over and get you, any time you want to come,” said Tom quickly.
“Thank you,” responded Miss Harrison, with a grateful look at him. She seemed to have recovered control of herself, but there was a pathetic air about her, which did not vanish.
Luncheon was a gay affair, as Tom and Phil felt that it was their duty to make up, in a measure, for the strange action of Sid, in going off in company with a flashily-dressed youth who had practically insulted his chums’ companions.
In the afternoon there was a period of idling beneath the trees, walks along shady and moss-grown paths, and trips about the lake in boats, until the declining sun warned the merry-makers that it was time to depart. Phil and Tom took the three girls to Fairview, but they had no further sight of Sid that afternoon, nor was any mention made of him, though Tom rather hoped the girls would say something that would enable him to defend his chum.
For, somehow, in spite of it all, Tom felt that there was something he didn’t understand in relation to Sid. He was puzzled over it, grieved deeply, too, yet he could not condemn Sid.
But no mention was made of the little incident of the morning, and the two youths left, promising to come over again at the first opportunity.
“It was awfully kind of you to bother with me,” said Miss Harrison, as she shook hands with Phil and Tom. “I was rather in the way, I’m afraid, and I realize——”
“Why, Mabel, what a way to talk!” interrupted Ruth. “If they hadn’t taken you with us, we wouldn’t have gone with them; would we, Madge?”
“Of course not.”
“It’s awfully kind of you,” went on Mabel, as she turned into the college, leaving Phil and Tom to say good-by to their friends.
“Well, what do you make of it?” asked Phil, when he and Tom were on their way back to Randall.
“Hanged if I know what to say. Who was that sporty chap, anyhow?”
“Search me. He seemed to take a good deal for granted. The puppy! I felt like punching him one, the way he leered at the girls.”
“So did I. Would have, too, only for Sid. He seemed to be friendly with the flashy chap.”
“Yes, and that’s the funny part of it. He seemed somehow to have Sid under a spell.”
“It’s just another phase of the mystery that seems to have been enveloping poor old Sid, of late,” went on Tom. “I only hope one thing, and that is, that whatever it is that it doesn’t interfere with baseball. We’ve got to depend a lot on Sid this season, as the other fellows aren’t batting as I hoped they would, and this includes myself, but I never was much as a hitter. I never could get above two sixty-eight, but Sid won’t have any trouble getting to four hundred, and he can bat both ways, placing a ball in either right or left field. But if this thing is going to keep up,” and Tom shook his head dolefully, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Losing that game to Fairview didn’t do our standing any good,” remarked Phil.
“I should say not! But we play Dodville Prep school Saturday, and they’re easy fruit.”
“That will help pull our average up some,” admitted Phil.
They made the rest of the trip back to Randall almost in silence, Tom making an occasional remark about baseball, and Phil replying, but the thoughts of both were more on the events of the day than on the great game.
Sid was not in the room when Phil and Tom entered. The latter took off his cherished blue tie, and placed it carefully away, probably in a place he would forget the next time he wanted it, while Phil made a point of sticking his garnet sleeve links in a box that contained everything from fish hooks to waxed ends for sewing ripped baseball covers.
“Well, I’m glad to-day’s over,” remarked Tom, as he threw himself in the old armchair, with a sigh of relief, “but it was lots of fun while it lasted. Still I didn’t exactly know what to do when that fellow showed up.”
“Same here, yet the girls got through all right. Trust them for a thing like that? Girls are queer creatures, anyhow.”
“You laughed at me when I said that last term,” remarked Tom, as Phil stretched out on the ancient sofa, raising a cloud of dust. “Well, to-day is done. I wonder what will happen to-morrow?”
“Same old grind. I’ve got to brush up a bit if I want to pass with honors. Guess I’ll do some boning to-night.”
“Yes, and I’ve got to arrange for some more baseball practice,” went on Tom. “I wonder where Sid is? I didn’t like the looks of that chap. And did you hear what he said about playing poker?”
“Yes, I’m afraid Sid’s in bad, in spite of what he says.”
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the ticking of the alarm clock. Then Tom resumed:
“I wish we could help him. If he’s got in with a bad crowd we ought to help save him. Poor old Sid, I wish——”
At that moment the door opened, and the chum whose troubles they were discussing walked in. He had heard what Tom had said, and a dull red flushed up under his brown skin.
“Were you fellows talking about me?” he asked hotly.
“We were just saying,” began Phil, “that we couldn’t——”
“I wish you fellows would mind your own business!” blurted out Sid. “I guess I can look after myself!” and he crossed the room and gazed moodily out of a window, into the darkness of the night, while the tick of the fussy little alarm clock seemed to echo and re-echo through the apartment.
There wasn’t much said in the room of the chums after Sid had “gone off the handle,” as Tom expressed it later. In fact there was not much that could be said. Phil shrugged his shoulders and glanced at Tom in a significant manner, and the captain of the nine shook his head discouragedly. Matters were getting worse, he thought, and he began to fear for the effect of Sid’s trouble on the second baseman’s ability as a player. But what could be done?
Though he did not refer to the scene of the previous evening, when he greeted his chums next morning, Sid, by his manner showed that he realized it. There was a tender gruffness in his words and actions, and he seemed so contrite, and so anxious to make amends that Phil and Tom did not have it in their hearts to stand out against him.
“A fine day for practice,” observed Tom, as he sprang out of bed, at the first summons of the alarm clock.
“Cæsar’s battle-axe! What’s going to happen?” demanded Phil, lazily turning over. “You’re up, Tom.”
“Sure. I’m behind in my psychology work, and I’ve got to attend a stiff lecture this morning and stand for a quizz afterward. I’m afraid I’ll slump.”
“I’ll help you,” came unexpectedly from Sid. “I’ve been all over that stuff, and I know what Pitchfork will try to stick you on. Get something on, and I’ll help you bone.”
This was unexpected on Sid’s part, but Tom was none the less grateful, and soon the two were delving deep into problems of mind and matter, while Phil protested that it was against all rules, and that he wanted to sleep.
Tom did well in the “quizz,” and this made him more than ever anxious to help Sid in his trouble. But the second baseman made no reference to it, and in practice that afternoon he did better than in several previous days at his stick work.
“We’ll eat up Dodville,” prophesied Tom exultantly. “That’s the way to lambast ’em, Sid!”
But Randall didn’t “eat up” Dodville. They beat the preparatory school nine, as indeed they should have done, but the score was no great showing of the abilities of Randall.
For the smaller lads hit Tom rather too frequently,and their fielding was a joy to the heart of their coach and captain. Even Mr. Leighton complimented them on it, and he did not say much to his own men, who, to say the least, were a bit ragged.
“Dodville shouldn’t have gotten more than one run,” declared the coach as the nine was returning, “yet you fellows let them get six.”
“Yes,” added Tom bitterly. “I can see a large, gold-framed picture of us winning that loving cup, when we go up against Boxer Hall and Fairview again.”
“You needn’t talk,” declared Sid, somewhat bitterly. “You issued plenty of walking papers to-day, and they found you several times, in spite of your curves.”
“I didn’t muff a ball, and let a man get away from me on second, though,” retorted Tom.
“Oh, come on, fellows, let’s sing,” proposed Holly Cross, as a way out of the difficulty, and when some of the old college lays had been rendered the team was in better humor.
That evening, when Tom was putting a new toe-plate on his shoe, and Sid was pretending to study in one corner of the room, but scarcely glancing at his book, there came a summons at the door. Sid jumped up at the knock, and there was a look of apprehension on his face, whichvanished, however, when Wallops, the messenger, came with word that Phil was wanted on the telephone. The first baseman returned presently, to announce:
“My sister wants to see me, over at Fairview.”
“Anything the matter?” asked Tom quickly, and with suspicious interest.
“No, she has a letter from dad, with something in about vacation plans, and she wants to talk to me about it. I’ll be back soon. Don’t sit up for me—ta-ta,” and Phil was gone.
It was not quite as difficult for him to gain admission to the young ladies’ side of the Fairview institution as it had been for Tom, on one memorable occasion, when he had called to tell Ruth that her brother had been hurt in a football game. Then Miss Philock, the preceptress, seemed to think Tom was going to carry off some of her charges out of hand.
“What is it, sis?” asked Phil, when his sister had come down to talk to him.
“Oh, it’s about where we’re going this summer. Dad and Momsey have left it to me. I want to go to Europe awfully, Phil, and if you and I both ask, maybe they’ll take us. Will you? That’s what I wanted to see you about, and I couldn’t wait to write, so I telephoned. Don’t you want to go to Europe?”
“Not much! I’m going camping with Sid and Tom. No Europe for me! We’re going to do Yellowstone Park, and——”
“Oh, Phil, and I was so counting on Europe,” and Ruth began to argue with her brother. In the midst of it the door of the little reception room opened, and in came Madge and Miss Harrison.
“Oh, excuse us, dear,” exclaimed Madge. “We didn’t know you were here.”
“Do stay,” urged Ruth. “It’s only Phil. Perhaps you can help me persuade him to join with me in begging the folks to take us to Europe,” and Phil’s sister looked knowingly at Madge.
“Oh, wouldn’t that be fine!” exclaimed Miss Tyler. “I heard mamma and papa talking about making a tour this year, and of course if they went I’d go too. Then we might see each other, Ruth. I don’t see why you’re so opposed to Europe, Mr. Clinton.”
“Oh, I’m not,” answered Phil quickly, doing some hard thinking before he reversed himself. “In fact I rather like it. Perhaps we will postpone the camping trip and—er—well, I don’t care, sis. If you can work the folks for a trip across the pond I’m with you.”
“Oh, thank you so much!” exclaimed Ruth, and she made a motion as though to kiss her brother, only Phil ducked.
“How fortunate you people are to go abroad,” spoke Miss Harrison. “I’ve been longing to go,” and they began to talk of many things they wished to see. From that the talk switched to baseball, and before she thought Ruth remarked:
“Is Mr. Henderson batting as well as ever?”
“Not as well as he might,” declared Phil, and he spoke not to disparage Sid, but merely as a lover of his team. “There’s something wrong with Sid,” he went on, scarcely aware of what he was saying. “He’s going down, somehow. I’m afraid he’s gotten in with a bad crowd. That sporty chap we met him with isn’t doing him any good, and Sid will slump, if he isn’t careful. He used to be a steady chap, but I’m afraid he’s going to the bad.”
“Oh, what a shame!” remarked Ruth.
“Yes, and he was so steady,” added Madge.
Miss Harrison was biting her lips. Her face had first flushed, but now was white.
“I think it’s very mean of you to say such things about him when he isn’t here,” she burst out. “Sid—I mean Mr. Henderson—doesn’t—I mean—I’m sure he wouldn’t—anyhow, why don’t you be fair to him?” and, before any of the others could answer, she burst into tears and fled from the room.
“Well, what do you know about that?” exclaimed Phil, turning to his sister and Miss Tyler. “If that isn’t the limit!”
“Hush!” begged Ruth. “Poor Mabel! She isn’t herself.”
“I wasn’t saying anything against Sid,” went on Phil. “I only said it was too bad something seemed to have gotten hold of him lately. Then she flies up——”
“How dare you speak about Mabel flying up?” interrupted Ruth, stamping her little foot, and shaking her finger at her brother. “She’s nervous and upset, that’s all. You’d better go to her, Madge. Perhaps she has a headache.”
Miss Tyler, with a sympathetic look at Phil, glided from the apartment.
“What do you s’pose ailed Miss Harrison?” asked Phil.
“I don’t know,” replied Ruth. “Of course it was rather unexpected when she and Mr. Hendersonbecame such friends. Then came that item in the paper, and his refusal to explain, and then meeting that horrid fellow at the picnic, and then—but I never expected her to break a lance for him in this fashion. I guess she cares more than she shows,” and with this philosophical reflection Ruth bade her brother good night, as Miss Philock was marching aggressively up and down the corridor like a sentinel, for the hour of retiring was approaching.
“Now don’t say a word about this to Sid,” cautioned Ruth.
“Of course not,” growled Phil.
“Nor Tom Parsons, either.”
Phil grunted, but that night he told Tom everything, and the scene further added, in the mind of the pitcher, to the mystery that was enveloping Sid.
“Maybe the worst of it’s over,” suggested Tom, as they were discussing the matter. “Sid hasn’t been out late nights for two weeks now, and he’s studying hard. He’s playing the game, too. We’ll beat Fairview the next time we tackle ’em, and wipe up Boxer Hall, likewise.”
But alas for Tom’s hopes. Two nights later, as the three chums were studying in their room, Wallops brought a note for Sid, who showed much perturbation, and hastily went out, saying nothing to his chums.
“There he goes again,” remarked Tom helplessly, as the door closed on Sid.
“Um,” grunted Phil. He had nothing to say.
Phil and Tom, who were taking up some advanced work in mathematics, spent two evenings a week “boning” with Mellville, a senior, and this was one of the occasions when they went to his room. They had permission to be up beyond the usual hour, and it was rather late when they returned to their own apartment. Mellville had his rooms in a new fraternity house, not far from Booker Memorial Chapel, and to get to their own room, which was in the west dormitory, Phil and Tom had to cross the campus, and go in the rear of the “prof house,” as the building was called where Dr. Churchill and the faculty had their living quarters. As the two chums were walking along, they became aware of a figure coming up the campus from another direction—from where the main entrance gates of the college loomed up dimly in the darkness.
“Some one’s coming in late,” murmured Phil.
“Likely to get caught,” added Tom. “I saw Proc. Zane sneaking around a few minutes ago.”
“By Jove, that walks like Sid!” whispered Phil, a moment later. “It is Sid,” he added.
“Yes, and there goes Zane after him!” groaned Tom. “He’s caught, sure, unless we can warn him. Poor old Sid!”
“Too late,” remarked Phil, as he saw the figure of the proctor break into a run. Sid also darted off, but soon he saw he had no chance to escape, and he stood still.
“Ah, Mr. Henderson, good evening,” greeted the proctor sarcastically. “Out rather late, aren’t you?”
“I’m—I’m afraid so, sir,” answered Sid hesitatingly; his two chums, from their position in the dark shadows of the faculty house being able to hear everything.
“No doubt about it,” went on the proctor gleefully. He had kept vigil for many nights of late, and his prey had escaped him. Now he had a quarry. “Have you permission to be out after hours?” demanded the official.
“No, sir.”
“I thought not. Report to Dr. Churchill directly after chapel,” and the proctor, by the light of a small pocket electric lamp he carried, began to enter Sid’s name in his book. As he did so Tom and Phil could see the watch-dog of the college gate gaze sharply at their chum. Then Mr. Zane, putting out his hand, caught hold of Sid’s coat.
“Are they going to fight?” asked Tom in a hoarse whisper. “Sid must be crazy!”
A moment later came the proctor’s voice.
“Ha, Mr. Henderson, I thought I smelled liquoron you! I am not deceived. What have you in that pocket?”
“Noth—nothing, sir,” stammered Sid.
There was a momentary struggle, and the proctor pulled something from an inner pocket of Sid’s coat. By the gleam of the electric lamp, Tom and Phil could see that it was a bottle—a flask of the kind usually employed to carry intoxicants—broad and flat, to fit in the pocket.
“Ha! Mr. Henderson, this is serious!” exclaimed the proctor. “Trying to smuggle liquor into the college! Come with me to my room at once. This must be investigated. I will find out who are guilty with you, in this most serious breach of the rules. A bottle of liquor! Shameful! Come with me, sir! Dr. Churchill shall hear of this instantly!” and he took hold of Sid’s arm, as if he feared the student would escape.
“What do you think of that?” gasped Tom, as the full meaning of what he had seen came home to him.
“I give up,” answered Phil hopelessly. “Poor, old Sid!”
Tom and Phil wished they could have been a witness to the scene which took place a little later in the study of Dr. Churchill. Not from mere motives of curiosity, but that they might, if possible, aid their chum. That he was in serious straits they well knew, for the rules of Randall (as indeed is the case at all colleges) were most stringent on the subject of liquor.
Poor Sid, led like a prisoner by the proctor, walked moodily up to the faculty residence, while Tom and Phil, with sorrow in their hearts, went to their room. Their grief was too deep and genuine to admit of discussion.
“You wished to see me?” inquired Dr. Churchill, coming out of his study into his reception room, as Sid and the proctor stood up to greet him, having previously sent in word by the servant. “Ha, what is it now?” and the venerable head of Randall looked over the tops of his spectacles at the two; the official, stern and unyielding,and the student with a puzzled, worried air, sorrowful yet not at all guilty. Dr. Churchill held a book and his finger was between the pages, as if he hoped soon to be able to go back and resume his reading at the place he had left off.
“I regret to announce that I have a most flagrant violation of the rules to report to you, Dr. Churchill,” began Mr. Zane.
“Another of my boys out late,” remarked the doctor, a half smile playing around his lips. “Well, of course that can’t be allowed, but I suppose he has some good excuse. He went to see about a challenge for a ball game, or it was so hot in his room that he couldn’t study,” and the president smiled, then, as he caught sight of a little blaze of logs in the fireplace of his reception room (for the evening was rather chilly), he realized that his latter explanation about a hot room would scarcely hold. And, be it said, Dr. Churchill was always looking for some excuse for indiscreet students, to the chagrin of the officious proctor.
“Doubtless a baseball matter took him out,” went on the president. “Of course we can’t allow that. Discipline is discipline, but if you will write out for me a couple of hundred lines of Virgil—by the way, you play at shortstop, don’t you?” and the doctor looked quizzically at Sid. The president had rather less knowledge of baseball thanthe average lady. “How is the eleven coming on, Mr. Henderson?”
The doctor tried to appear interested, but, for the life of him he never could remember whether baseball was played with nine, ten or a dozen men, albeit he attended all the championship games, and shouted with the rest when the team won. He wanted to appear interested now, however, and he was anxious to get back to his reading.
“I regret to inform you,” went on the proctor (which was not true, for Sid well knew that Mr. Zane took a fiendish delight in what he was about to say), “I regret to state that I caught Mr. Henderson coming in after hours to-night; and I would not think so much of that, were it not for the condition in which I caught him,” and the proctor assumed a saintly air.
“I don’t quite understand,” remarked the doctor, laying down his book, but taking care to mark a certain passage. Sid was idly aware that it was a volume of Sanskrit, the doctor being an authority on that ancient language of the Hindoos.
“I regret to say that Mr. Henderson is intoxicated!” blurted out the proctor.
“I am not, sir!” retorted the second baseman, it being his first remark since entering the room. “I have never touched a drop of intoxicating liquor in my life, sir!”
There was a ring in his voice, and, as he stood up and faced his accuser there was that in his manner which would indicate to any unprejudiced person that he was perfectly sober.
“Intoxicated!” exclaimed the doctor, for he had a nameless horror of anything like that. “Don’t make such a charge, Mr. Zane, unless you are positive——”
“I am positive, Dr. Churchill.”
“I have never touched a drop of liquor,” insisted Sid.
Dr. Churchill, with a stern look on his rugged face, advanced and took hold of Sid by the arms, not severely, not even tightly, but with a gentle, friendly pressure. He looked into the troubled eyes of the lad—troubled but not ashamed—worried, perhaps, but not abashed. The doctor bent closer.
“I am no authority on intoxicants,” went on the president grimly, “but I should say you were mistaken, Mr. Zane.”
“Will Mr. Henderson deny that I took a pint bottle of liquor from him not ten minutes ago?” asked Mr. Zane, as he produced the incriminating evidence.
Sid’s face turned red under its tan—it had been rather pale before—but he did not answer. Dr. Churchill looked grave.
“Is this true?” he asked.
“I did have the bottle in my pocket,” admitted Sid. “But it was not for myself. I took it——”
The president raised a restraining hand.
“Wait,” he said. “I will send for Dr. Marshall. This is serious.” He sighed as he looked at his book. To-night he felt, more than ever, what it meant, to be the head of an institution where several hundred young men—healthy, vitalized animals—were held in leash only by slender cords. Dr. Churchill summoned a messenger, and sent him for the college physician.
“Mr. Henderson is no more intoxicated than I am, and I never take a drop, nor give it,” declared the physician. “I guess you’re mistaken, Mr. Zane.”
“Is this liquor?” demanded the proctor, extending the bottle.
Dr. Marshall looked at the bottle through the light, poured out some of the contents into his palm, and smelled of the liquid.
“It seems to be whisky,” he said doubtfully, “but I should have to make an analysis to be perfectly sure.”
“You need not go to that trouble,” said Sid quickly. “I have every reason to believe that itiswhisky.”
“And what were you doing with it?” demanded Dr. Churchill sternly.
“That is a question which I must decline to answer,” and Sid drew himself up haughtily.
The venerable president drew back, almost as if he had received a blow. He looked at Sid keenly.
“Very well,” he remarked quietly, and there was a note of sadness in his voice. “I shall have to inflict severe punishment. The rules call for suspension or expulsion, but, in view of your previous excellent record, I will make an exception. You will be debarred from all further participation in athletics for the remainder of the term—unless,” and the doctor paused, “you can make some explanation that will prove your innocence,” and he looked almost as a father might at an erring son.
“I—I can’t make any explanation,” answered Sid brokenly, as he turned away, while the doctor, with a shake of his head, took up his Sanskrit book, and went back to his study.
Of course, the story was all over college the next day, for those things leak out, through messengers or servants, or in some mysterious manner. But, in this case, the suspension of Sid from further participation in the ball games, had to be made known.
“For the love of onions, what are we going to do?” demanded Tom. “We can’t do without Sid.” He was quite broken up over the affair.
“We’ll have to play Pete Backus in his place,” suggested Phil.
“Yes, I know, but Pete——” began the perplexed captain.
“He’ll have to train harder than he has been,” observed the coach, who, with Tom and some friends, were talking over the alarming situation.
“Oh, Pete’ll do it, if he once makes up his mind to it, and I’ll see that he does,” agreed Tom.
“Does this mean that we’ll have to cancel the next game with Fairview?” asked Ed Kerr, whowas anxious to know, for, as manager, he would have to shift his dates.
“No, we’ll play ’em,” replied the coach. “It will mean more and harder practice for the next two weeks, though, and we have a game with that Michigan school Saturday. They’re hard as nails, too, I hear, but maybe it will do our fellows good to get a few more drubbings. It may wake them up, for there’s no denying that the fellows are not playing up to the mark.”
“I’m sure it’s not my fault,” began Tom, a bit aggressively.
“I didn’t say it was,” retorted Mr. Leighton, and there was a sharp tone in his words. “Only we’ve got to play better if we want to win.”
Tom, with a fierce feeling in his heart, put his men through a hard practice previous to a game with the scrub team, and the men seemed to wake up. Pete Backus surprised his chums and himself by knocking a home run.
“That’s the stuff!” cried Tom.
“Work like that wins games,” added the coach, brightening up a bit.
Tom and Phil, in tacit agreement with the rest of the athletic set, had avoided mentioning Sid’s disgrace, but coming home from practice that afternoon, Tom, seeing his chum, curled up in the old armchair, studying, could not help remarking:
“What in the world did you do it for, old man? You’ve put us in a fierce hole.”
“I’m sorry,” spoke Sid contritely.
“Why don’t you explain?” asked Phil.
“I can’t.”
“You mean there’s nothing to explain?” queried Tom.
“You can put it that way, if you like. I wish you fellows would let me alone.”
“That’s all right, Sid,” went on Tom, “but when we count on you to play on the team—and when we need you—to go back on us this way—it’s not——”
“Oh, let me alone; will you?” burst out the unfortunate one. “Haven’t I got troubles enough? You know it hurts me, as much as it does you, not to play. Don’t I want to see Randall win?”
“Doesn’t look much like it,” mumbled Phil.
“Say, look here,” exploded Sid, “if you fellows don’t want me here any longer, just say so, and I’ll get out.” He sprang to his feet, and faced his chums, a look on his face they had never seen there before. It brought to them a realization of what it all meant, though they could not understand it.
“Oh, hang it all, we’re getting too serious!” declared Tom. “Of course, we want you to stay here—we wouldn’t know what to do if you left us. Only it’s tough on the team.”
“Glad you appreciate my abilities,” remarked Sid, with a little softening of his manner. “I’m as much broken up over it as you are. All I can say is there’s been a big mistake, and all I ask for is a suspension of judgment.”
“But if it’s a mistake, why can’t you tell?” insisted Phil.
“I can’t, that’s all. You’ll have to worry along without me. I hear Pete is doing good.”
“Oh, yes, fair,” admitted Tom, “but he isn’t as sure a batter as you are. We need you, Sid.”
“Well, I’m sorry—that’s all. It may be explained—some day, but not now,” and Sid fell to studying again.
“I don’t like this,” remarked Tom to Phil, a few days later, following some practice the day before the game with Michigan, a team that had won a name for itself on the diamond.
“Don’t like what, Tom?”
“The way some of our team are playing and acting. They seem to think any old kind of baseball will do. They play fine—at times—then they go to pieces. Then, too, there seems to be a sort of clique forming in the nine and among some of the subs. There’s too much sporting around, and staying out nights. Too many little suppers and smokers.”
“Leighton doesn’t kick—why should you?”
“He doesn’t know it, but if it keeps on I’m going to tell him, and have him stiffen up the men. Ed Kerr’s got to help, too. Bert Bascome is responsible for some of it. He’s got lots of money, and he spends it. Then, with his auto, he’s playing old bob with some of the fellows, taking them on joy rides, and keeping them out until, first they know, Zane will have them down on his list.”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as that, I guess.”
“It isn’t, eh? You just watch, that’s all,” and Tom kept moodily on to his room. On the table were three envelopes, one each for the captain, Sid and Phil.
“What’s up?” asked Phil. “I wonder if Ruth is going to have a blow-out again, or if Madge——”
He opened his missive and began to read it, Tom already having perused his.
“There, what did I tell you?” asked the captain. “Bascome is giving a dinner to-night, and he wants the whole ’varsity nine, and the subs, to attend. The little puppy! He gives himself as many airs as if he was a senior. Why doesn’t he dine the freshman nine, if he has to blow in his money?”
“Are you going?” asked Phil.
“Going? Of course not, and none of the ninewill, if they have to ask me. It will break them all up for the game to-morrow. I won’t stand for it.”
“What will you do?”
“Tell Leighton, and have him officially forbid it.”
“Isn’t that going it pretty strong? We can easily beat Michigan, even if the fellows do have a little fun to-night.”
“Look how we were fooled on Dodville Prep. I’m going to take no chances. I’ll see Leighton,” which Tom did, with the effect that the coach kindly, but firmly, forbade members of the ’varsity nine from dissipating at Bascome’s dinner.
Sid came in a little later, picked up his invitation, and read it.
“They say Bascome gives very fine spreads,” was his remark.
“You’re not going, are you?” asked Tom in some surprise, for he likened Bascome to Langridge, though the latter was more of a bully, and he did not believe Sid would take up with the rich freshman.
“Why shouldn’t I go?” asked Sid, and there was challenge in his tone. “I might as well have the game as the name,” and he laughed uneasily.
“Why, none of the ’varsity nine are going,” said Tom.
“Oh,” and Sid turned aside, as he put the invitation in his pocket. “Well, I’m not on the ’varsity any longer,” and he laughed, but there was no mirth in it.
Tom did not reply to Sid’s almost sneering allusion to the unfortunate fact that he was barred from playing. There was little the captain could say, and when Sid went to Bascome’s dinner, together with a number of the more sporty students, Tom and Phil, who were in bed, did not greet their chum on his return.
“What’s the matter with you fellows?” demanded Sid, as he entered the darkened room, and proceeded to get ready to retire. “You’d think I’d committed an unpardonable crime. It was a jolly crowd I was with, and nothing out of the way. Bascome isn’t half bad, when you get to know him.”
“Only a little fresh, that’s all,” remarked Phil, while Tom mumbled a few words that might have been taken for anything.
The game with Michigan the next day demonstrated in how poor a condition was Randall, for the contest nearly went by the board, and Tomonly pulled it out of the fire by excellent pitching, though he was not in the best of form.
“Well, we won, anyhow,” remarked Phil that night.
“Yes, but nothing to boast of. I’m worried about the Fairview game Saturday,” said the captain.
“Do we play on their grounds?”
“No, they come here.”
“Well, that’s something in our favor. We’ll have Bean Perkins and the other shouters with us. We’ve just got to win, Tom!”
“I know it, but——”
“There are no ‘buts,’ old man,” declared the genial first baseman. “Just remember that the girls will be on hand, and they mustn’t see us go down to defeat twice to a co-ed college.”
“No, of course not,” and Tom turned in.
The following days were devoted to practice—practice harder than any yet that term, for Tom and the coach worked the men every spare hour they could devote to the diamond, outside of lecture and study hours. Pete Backus improved wonderfully. He was not Sid’s equal, but the best substitute that could be found.
“Oh, Sid, but I wish you were going to play,” said Tom, with a little sigh, the night before the Fairview game.
“So do I,” came in sorrowful tones from thesecond baseman. “But—Oh, well, what’s the use of talking?” and he tried to laugh it off, but it was a poor attempt.
Fairview was on hand early with a crowd of “rooters” and supporters, both young men and maidens, the next afternoon, when the Randall team fairly leaped out on the diamond.
“I wonder if Ruth is here?” said Phil, as he stopped a particularly “hot” ball Tom threw.
“Let’s take a look,” suggested the pitcher, and while the grand stand and bleachers were filling up the two strolled along, scanning the hundreds of faces.
“There she is!” cried Tom at length. “Miss Tyler’s with her.”
“And Miss Harrison is up there, too,” added Phil. “And see who’s with her—Miss Harrison, I mean.”
“Who?”
“Langridge.”
“By Jove! you’re right,” agreed Tom. “I guess he came to get a line on us. Well, he’ll get it.”
“Queer place he picked out to see the game from,” went on Phil.
“Why?”
“It’ll be sunny there, after a bit,” replied Phil, for part of the seating accommodations on the Randall grounds were not of the best, and somegrand stands were little better than the bleachers in the matter of shade. “He’ll have the sun almost in his face before the game is half over,” continued the first baseman.
“Well, if it suits him, we oughtn’t to kick,” said Tom.
“No, I s’pose not. Hello, if there isn’t Sid, and he’s going to sit right down behind Langridge and Miss Harrison.”
“That’s so. Maybe he doesn’t see ’em. Rather awkward if he and Langridge have a run-in here. But come on, we’ll say how-d’y-do to the girls, and then get at practice,” and, after greeting their friends, and assuring them that Fairview would go home beaten, Tom and Phil took their places with the other players.
“Now, fellows, we’ve got to win!” declared Tom emphatically just before the game started. “Last time we played Fairview we lost by a score of ten to three. Don’t let it happen again.”
“No, don’t you dare to,” cautioned Mr. Leighton.
A moment later the Randall players went out in the field, the home team having the privilege of batting last. The umpire took the new ball from its foil cover, and tossed it to Tom. The tall, good-looking pitcher looked at it critically, glanced around the field to see that his men were in position, and then sent in a few practice ballsto Dutch Housenlager, who loomed up big and confident behind home plate.
Ted Puder, the Fairview center fielder and captain, was the first man up, and was greeted with a round of cheers as he tapped his bat on the rubber. Dutch signalled for an out curve and Tom delivered it, right over the plate.
“Strike!” called the umpire.
“Wow!” jeered Fairview’s friends, for Puder had not swung at it.
“Robber!” yelled some one, but the Fairview captain only laughed. “Make him give you a good one, Puder,” he said.
But waiting availed Puder nothing, for Tom neatly struck him out, and followed it by doing the same to Lem Sellig. Frank Sullivan managed to find Tom’s second delivery, and sent a neat little liner out toward Bricktop Molloy, at short. Bricktop seemed to have it fairly in his grasp, even though he had to reach out to one side for it, but his foot slipped, and the ball went on past him.
“Run, Frank, run!” screamed a score of voices, and Frank legged it for first, reaching the bag before Joe Jackson in left field could run up and redeem Bricktop’s error by stopping the rolling ball.
“Never mind, two down—play for the batter,” advised Dutch in a signal to Tom, and the pitchernodded comprehendingly. Ned Williams, who followed Sullivan, knocked two fouls, both of which Dutch tried hard to get, but could not. Then Tom struck him out with a puzzling drop, and a goose egg went up on the score board for Fairview.
“Guess they’re not finding us as soft as they expected,” remarked Holly Cross, as his side came in.
“It’s early yet,” advised Tom. “Wait until about the fifth inning, and then talk.”
“Do you wish to spank me?” asked Bricktop, as he came up to Tom, looking sorrowful over his error.
“Don’t do it again, that’s all,” said Coach Leighton.
“Not for worlds,” promised the red-haired shortstop.
Holly Cross was up first, and he faced John Allen, the Fairview pitcher, with a grin of confidence. He swung viciously at the first ball, and missed it clean.
“Make him give you a nice one,” called Bricktop, who was coaching from third. “We’ve got all day, Holly. He’ll tire in about two innings. He has no Irish blood in him, as I have,” and there was a laugh at Bricktop’s “rigging” while the Fairview pitcher smiled sheepishly.
But though Holly waited, it availed him but little. Three balls were called for him, after his first strike, though the Fairview crowd wanted to injure the umpire. Then Allen stiffened, and Holly walked back to the bench without even swinging the stick again.
“Only one gone. We’ve got plenty of chances yet,” called Bricktop, from the coaching box, and in his enthusiasm he stepped over the line. The umpire warned him back. Dan Woodhouse was up next.
“Make kindling wood of your bat,” yelled an enthusiastic freshman in the Randall bleachers, but though Dan sent a nice bingle to center, well over the pitcher’s head, the second baseman pulled it down, and Dan was out. Bricktop repeated this, save that he flied to Herbert Bower, in left field, and Randall had a zero to her credit.
In the second and third innings neither side scored, and when the fourth was half over, with another minus mark for Fairview the crowd began to sit up and take notice.
“This’ll be a hot game before it’s through,” prophesied Bert Bascome, who with Ford Fenton, and a crowd of like spirits sat together.
“That’s right,” agreed Ford. “My uncle says——”
“Sit down! Sit down!” yelled a score of voices about him, though the unfortunate Ford was not standing. He knew, however, what was meant, and uttered no protest.
Though Randall did her best when her chance came in the ending of the fourth, nothing resulted. Backus flied to Sam Soden and Tom Parsons managed to get to first on a clean hit to right field, but Joe Jackson, who followed him, struck out, and, as though emulating his brother, the other Jersey twin did likewise, letting Tom die on second.
“Say, when is something going to happen?”asked Holly Cross of Tom, as the home team filed out in the field.
“It ought to, pretty soon now,” replied Tom, as he kicked a small stone out of the pitchers’ box.
Bean Perkins, with his crowd of “shouters” started the “Wallop ’em” song, in an endeavor to make things lively, and he very nearly succeeded, for John Allen, who came up first in the beginning of the fifth, rapped out a pretty one to left field. It looked as if Joe Jackson would miss it, but Joe wasn’t there for that purpose. He had a long run to the side to get within reaching distance of the horsehide, but, as though to make up for striking out, he made a sensational catch, and was roundly applauded, while Allen walked back disgustedly from first, which he had almost reached.
“Pretty catch! Lovely catch!” yelled Bean Perkins. “Now a couple more like that, and things will be all ready for us when our boys come in.”
Herbert Bower and Sam Soden, the next two Fairview players who followed Allen, were both struck out by Tom, who was doing some fine twirling, having given no player his base on balls yet.
“Now, boys, show ’em what you can do!” pleaded a score of Randall “fans,” as Tom andhis men walked in to the bench for their share of the fifth inning.
Dutch Housenlager was up first, and he selected a bat with care.
“What are you going to do, me son,” asked Bricktop solicitously.
“Knock a home run,” declared Dutch, and he faced the pitcher with a grim air. He didn’t do that, but he did rap out a single, and got to first. Then came Phil Clinton, who made a sacrifice bunt. That is, it was intended for that, but the pitcher fumbled it, and was delayed in getting it to first. Then the throw was so wild that the Fairview first baseman had to take his foot off the bag to get it, and, meanwhile Phil was legging it for the bag for all he was worth, while Dutch went on to second.
“Batter’s out!” howled the umpire, though it seemed to all the Randall players that Phil was safe. Tom protested hotly at the decision, but it stood, and, though it looked as if there would be trouble, Mr. Leighton calmed things down.
“Only one gone,” he said, “and Holly Cross is up next. He’ll bring in Dutch, and score himself.”
Holly sent out a beautiful hit to center field, and there was a chorus of joyful cries.
“Go on! Go on!”
“Make a home run!”
“Come on in, Dutch, you old ice wagon!”
Dutch legged it from second to third, and started home, but the ball, which the center fielder had managed to get sooner than had been expected, looked dangerous to Dutch, and he ran back to third, after being halfway home. Holly was safe on second, and amid a storm of encouraging yells Dan Woodhouse got up.
“Now a home run, Kindlings!” called the crowd, and then Bean and his cohorts began singing: “We’ve Got ’em on the Run Now.”
Dan got two balls, and the third one was just where he wanted it.He slammed it out for a three base hit, and Dutch and Holly scored the first two runs of the game, while Tom did a war dance at third, where he was coaching. On a single by Bricktop Dan came in, though he was nearly caught at home, for the ball was quickly relayed in from left field, where the shortstop had sent it, but old Kindlings slid in through a cloud of dust, and Charley Simonson, who was catching for Fairview, dropped the horsehide, so Dan’s run counted.
“Three—nothing! Three—nothing!” yelled Tom, wild with joy. “Now, boys, we’ve struck our gait! And only one out!”
“Watch his glass arm break!” shouted severalin scorn at the Fairview pitcher, but the latter refused to let them get his “goat” or rattle him and kept a watchful eye on Bricktop at first, when Pete Backus came up.
“Now, Pete, don’t forget what I told you!” shouted Tom, as the lad who was taking Sid’s place stepped up, but poor Pete must have had a poor memory, for he struck out, and when Tom himself took up his stick, Bricktop, who had been vainly trying to steal second and who was somewhat tired out, by the pitcher’s efforts to catch him napping on first, finally did what the Fairview players hoped he would do—he played off too far, and he couldn’t get back, when Allen suddenly slammed the ball over to the first baseman. Bricktop was out, and the Randall side was retired, but with three runs to its credit.
“That’ll do for a starter,” observed Tom, as he put on his pitching glove. “We’ll duplicate that next inning.”
But the sixth saw goose eggs in the frames of both nines, though Tom sent a pretty, low fly out to center, where it was neatly caught by Ted Puder, who had to jump for it. The Jersey twins struck out in monotonous succession, thus ending the sixth.
“Now for the lucky seventh!” yelled a crowd of Fairview supporters. “Everybody stand up!”and the big crowd arose to get some relief from sitting still so long.
The seventh was destined to be lucky in spite of the efforts of Tom and his men to hold back Fairview.