For the Honor of Randall, by Lester Chadwick, a Project Gutenberg eBook.

Here, in the seven-foot circle, Phil was balancing himself for the hammer throw, while off to one side Tom was adjusting the toe board in order to put the sixteen pound shot. Frank Simpson was assisting one of the janitors in setting up the new hurdles, and Sid was testing his vaulting pole.

Dutch Housenlager, whose big frame and mighty muscles gave him an advantage few others enjoyed, was juggling with the fifty-six pound weight.

“I’m going to do better than twenty-five feet to-day,” he declared, and forthwith he swung up the big iron ball with its triangular handle and heaved it.

Shambler came running from the gymnasium attired in his new suit. He presented an attractive figure; Tom could not help admitting that, much as he disliked the newcomer. And certainly Shambler could run. He had a certain confident air, and a manner about him that counted for much.

The practice went on, and Holly Cross and Kindlings, who had been voted into permanent trainers and managers interchangeably, watched with keen eyes the performances of all the lads.

“Yes,” agreed Kindlings, “if they’ll only practice and keep at it. It’s quite a while to the games though, and any one of them may go stale. This isn’t like baseball or football. If we don’t win one game on the diamond or gridiron, we have another chance. But we won’t in the all-around contests. It’s do or die the first time.”

“No, but Boxer Hall would give her head to beat us, and we can’t take any chances. Say, just hold the watch on Shambler, will you? I think he’s hitting it up to-day.”

Holly walked over to the cinder track, where Shambler was about to finish his mile run. As he breasted the tape Holly pressed his stop watch.

“Well, I’m going to get it down to six and a half before I’m done,” went on the new student. “I can do it.”

“Better take it easy,” advised the trainer. As he spoke he saw a change come over Shambler’s face, and there was a light in his eyes that told of someone approaching to speak to him. Holly wheeled about to confront a rather shabbily dressed man—a stranger, walking toward Shambler.

“Hello, Shambler,” greeted the newcomer. “At your old game, I see. I thought I’d find you.”

The change that came over Shambler was surprising. Even as he turned away, to look after some of the other contestants, Holly was aware of it. It seemed, he said afterward, as though Shambler was afraid, or ashamed of being spoken to by the shabby visitor.

“Aren’t you glad to see me?” went on the man. “I came a long way to see you, and——”

“Of course,” broke in the runner. “Come on over here where we can talk. I didn’t expect you.”

“You never can tell when I’m going to show up,” was the answer, and Holly, hurrying away, thought that the words contained a half threat.

CHAPTER XV
TOM IS SUSPICIOUS

Tom Parsons, who was one of the best all-around athletes at Randall, believed in doing a variety of things in order to keep himself in form. He realized that if he devoted himself exclusively to one thing he might excel in that, to the detriment of some other form of sport. He was one of the best pitchers Randall had ever sent into the box, and it had been said of him that had he devoted more time to running, pole vaulting, broad or high jumping, he could have made fine records at either. But he preferred to be a little better than the average at either one, and yet he did not want to strain himself to be a top-notcher.

“I’m just sort of going to hold myself in reserve,” he said to Holly, “and you can fill me in wherever you need me.”

“Not a bad idea,” the young manager had agreed, and so to-day Tom was practicing with the sixteen pound shot. In order to be out of the way of the others, and so that he might not be too closely watched, Tom had set the toe board some distance off. There he was heaving the shot to his heart’s content.

He was not far from a corner of the gymnasium, which building was now pretty well emptied, since nearly every lad who intended to try for a place in the games was out on the field.

As Tom went to recover the shot, after a “put” that gave him considerable satisfaction from the distance covered, he saw two figures passing behind the angle of the building. One he knew at once for that of Shambler. The other—that of a shabbily dressed man—was not familiar to him.

Since the little episode of the May walk, Tom had had no occasion to speak to Shambler, and the latter, whether or not he was aware of anything unusual, did not show any curiosity over Tom’s behavior.

As Tom heaved the shot again, the toe of his tennis shoe caught on the board, and part of the sole was ripped off.

“Serves me right for using that old pair,” mused the lad. “I’ve got another pair in my locker, I’ll put them on.”

He was rummaging among his things in the gymnasium, when he became aware of voices outside, directly under an open ventilating window. And it did not take very sharp ears to know that one of the voices was Shambler’s. Without in the least meaning to be an eavesdropper, Tom could not help hearing something of what was said.

“You don’t seem at all glad to see me,” spoke the voice of the shabby man.

“Well, maybe not. I wish you hadn’t come here. Why didn’t you send me word, and I could have met you in the village? It doesn’t look good, you coming here on the college grounds.”

“Hush! Not so loud! Of course I have, but I can’t change my face, and I’m afraid every day of getting found out. But what do you want, Nelson?”

“What do I always want, but money? Did you think I came here to pass the time of day?”

“Why, what have you been doing here all this while, I’d like to know?” and the man’s voice took on a whine.

“I haven’t been picking up gold dollars, if that’s what you mean, Nelson. I’ve been bucking down and studying hard. It is isn’t as easy at Randall as it was at Harkness.”

“Because athletics are better managed. Now look here. You know the games won’t take place for some time yet, and I can’t get any cash until they’re run off. I have just enough to get along on as it is, but if things go right I’ll have plenty later on.”

“Hush! You can’t tell who may hear you. I tell you it was a big risk for you to come here to-day. I wish you hadn’t. You had better go away now. Go out this way, where no one will notice you.”

“Oh, hang it, Nelson! Do you want to spoil everything? I tell you I can’t give you any money. Why don’t you go see some of the others?”

“They’re broke too. I was counting on you, and I’ve just got to have it. Come now, fork over. You can cut out some of your fancy business, and make it up.”

“Fancy business? I’m living plainer than any one else in college. I haven’t given a spread, and I don’t go to ’em when I can help it, for I can’t return the compliment.”

“So that’s why he hasn’t been around much,” mused Tom. “He hasn’t the money. Well, that’s nothing against him, but I must say I’m suspicious of this talk. I—I wish I hadn’t heard it.”

Tom had on his other shoes now, and was preparing to leave the gymnasium. Then the voices resumed.

“Well, I’ll spare you a little,” said Shambler, “though it’s a hard pull. Now don’t you come back here until after the games. If all goes right you’ll get your share.”

“I should think I would, after what I’ve done for you,” retorted the other. “Come on now, fork over. I’m in a hurry.”

Tom changed his mind about going out just then, as he felt that he might meet Shambler. He slipped into one of the shower bath compartments and waited there until he heard the runner enter and leave again. Then came the jingle of coins through the open window, and the sound of retreating footsteps.

“That sure was queer,” mused Tom, as he slipped from the gymnasium, and went back at his shot putting. “I wonder what sort of a hold that fellow had on Shambler, to get money out of him? It looks bad, and yet I can’t say anything.”

“I didn’t mean to listen, but, since I did, I can’t tell anyone that I did. But it sure is queer. I wonder how he expects to make any money off the games, unless he bets on Randall? Of course, that’s legitimate enough, if one believes in betting.”

Tom shook his head. It was too much for him. And, as he thought of how Shambler had, of late, crossed his path in more ways than one, the tall pitcher was more and more puzzled over the growing mystery.

“I wish I could tell the fellows, and talk it over with them,” he went on, as he made an extraordinary good put. “But it’s out of the question. I’ll have to puzzle it out by myself. But I’ll keep my eyes open for that shabby looking man.”

The fellow was not in sight when Tom came out of the gymnasium, and Shambler had resumed his training, while Tom went back to the seven foot circle.

“Well, I guess we’ve had enough for to-day,” called Holly Cross to the various contestants, a little later. “No use overdoing the thing, and going stale. Knock off, everybody!”

“And glad enough we are to do it, too!” gasped Dutch, who was in a perspiration from his efforts. Everyone was in a healthy glow, and as Holly and Kindlings looked at the notes of some of the records made that day there was a look of satisfaction between them.

“That’s right. Everything seems to be going well, but, of course, we want all the points we can get. I think the new hurdles are an improvement. There’s no danger of a fellow getting hurt, and it gives him more confidence as he approaches them. We must insist on them in the games.”

“Oh, yes. We’ve given in to them on lots of points, and it’s no more than fair that they should concede something to us.”

“Do you think they’ll all decide on Tonoka Park as the place to hold the games?”

“I’m almost sure of it. It’s big enough, and will hold a good crowd. That’s what we want so we can get plenty of admission money. Boxer and Fairview are in favor of Tonoka, and so are we. Exter will have to agree with three against her.”

“They had rather stiff nerve to want the contests to come off on their grounds.”

“Well, Tom, how goes it?” asked Sid as the four chums entered the gymnasium for showers.

Then conversation was interrupted by the splashing of water, to be succeeded by various grunts and puffings, as the boys vigorously rubbed down after their practice.

“Telegram for you, Mr. Parsons,” announced one of the messengers about the college, as he met our hero coming from the gymnasium. “I’ve been up to your room, but you weren’t there.”

“Thanks,” murmured Tom, as he ripped off the end of the yellow envelope. His companions watched his face curiously as he read the message.

CHAPTER XVI
FRANK’S SURPRISE

“For good?” demanded the Big Californian. “Say now, that’s tough! I was hoping this thing would at least hold off until after the games, Tom. What’s the row?”

“Oh, that lawsuit business, I suppose. Dad doesn’t give any particulars. He just says: ‘Come home at once.’”

There was a silence among the inseparables for a moment or two, and then Sid said:

“Say, let’s go to our room and talk this over. Maybe it isn’t so bad as it seems.”

“Well, maybe Tom is only called home temporarily. His dad may want some help, or something like that, and he can come back in a short time. Let’s think that, anyhow, and don’t go to getting up a farewell banquet.”

“Oh, come now!” objected Tom. “None of that farewell-feed business, even if I do have to go.”

“You dry up!” commanded Frank. “I guess we’ll give you a banquet if we want to, if you’re going to leave. But you’re not. I believe, as Sid does, that it’s only temporary. You’ll start right away, of course?”

“As soon as Moses lets me. I can catch the midnight train, and be at home in the morning. I guess it must be that dad needs my testimony, or an affidavit or something in connection with the lawsuit. It will be tried over again soon, and I helped dad on some of his books and papers, when he went into that horse deal. I’ll go see Moses now, and get a permit.”

“You’ll have to break training,” remarked Phil a bit regretfully, as Tom walked toward the residence of Dr. Churchill. “You’ll have to work doubly hard when you come back.”

“Oh, I guess Randall won’t lose much by my absence for a few days,” answered Tom with a laugh. “There are enough fellows to hold her end up.”

“What’s that?” cried Holly Cross, coming along at that moment. “No treason, Parsons. Randall wants every loyal son to stand up for her honor.”

“Oh, of course,” replied the pitcher. “I’ll be on the job later,” and he explained about the telegram.

Holly was sorry, and expressed the hope that Tom would quickly be back. Soon, having secured the necessary permission from the venerable president, Tom was in his room with his chums.

“We’ll help you pack,” volunteered Phil. “You won’t need much but a pair of pajamas and a toothbrush.”

“I guess that’s right,” agreed Tom. “If I have to stay home for good I can send for the rest of my things.”

“Perish the thought!” exclaimed Sid, and, for the first time since the receipt of the telegram, there came over the spirit of gaiety that had existed, a cloud of apprehension and sorrow. For, though they all hoped that Tom would not have to leave Randall, there was the ever-present possibility that events would so shape themselves.

“Well, you’ll let us know, as soon as you hear, what the worst news is; won’t you?” asked Frank, as he fairly threw himself on the old couch. “We want——”

But the rest of Frank’s sentence was lost in a momentous cracking sound, a splintering of wood and a tearing of cloth. Then a cloud of dust filled the room, and following the crash, there came a melancholy voice, saying:

“The old couch. I—I sat down too hard on it. The back is broken, I guess. Lend me a hand, somebody!”

Frank tried to struggle to his feet, but he had been pinned fast between the collapsed parts of the couch, and had to be fairly pulled out.

“Well, I should say you had done it,” remarked Sid mournfully, as he surveyed the wreck of the old sofa.

“Can’t it be mended?” asked Tom, trying to raise the two ends. The couch was like a ship with a broken back.

“Sure it can be fixed,” put in Frank, rubbing his hips where he had been pinched. “It’s only those extra boards that were nailed on last term. We can put fresh ones on—stronger ones, or, if we can’t——”

“Oh, nothing,” answered Frank vaguely. “I—er—I guess it can be fixed all right.” He bent over the sofa, and began propping up the ends on piles of books. “It’ll do to sit on, if you do it carefully, until I can nail it up in the morning,” he added.

“And for cats’ sake, don’t let him wind the clock, or he’ll bust the spring of that,” added Tom.

“Keep out of that chair!” cried Sid, as Frank was about to sink into one of the big pieces of furniture. “You’re a regular vandal. Everything you touch you bust.”

“No, don’t sit there, either,” put in Phil, as Frank turned toward the other chair.

By turns they examined the couch, the three shaking their heads mournfully at the author of the mischief, until, when the joke had been carried far enough, they turned their attention to Tom, and assisted him in his rather limited preparations for the trip. They escorted him to the station shortly before train time, their prayer for a special dispensation in regard to being out late, having been granted.

“Don’t forget to wire as soon as you have any news,” begged Sid as they left their chum, and Tom promised. He kept his word, for there was a message for the three before noon the next day.

The general surmise was correct. Tom’s presence was only needed in order to sign some affidavits in relation to the lawsuit, and he stated that he would be back at Randall the next day.

“Then we’ve got to get up a sort of celebration!” cried Frank, dancing about with the telegram in his hand.

“Surest thing you know!” agreed Sid. “We’ll have a spread in our room, Zane or no Zane.”

“And to-night let’s take in a theatre,” suggested Frank. “I’m in funds. Just got my allowance. I’ll blow you fellows.”

“Wow! You are a sport!” declared Phil, clapping the Big Californian on the back.

They took a chance on “running the guard,” in going to the theatre that evening, and, later Phil and Sid both agreed that Frank had acted rather strangely. After buying the theatre tickets the big lad offered to treat his chums to sodas, and, while these were being consumed, he made an excuse to slip out of the drug store.

“I just want to go next door to telephone,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“There’s a telephone here,” suggested the drug clerk, as Frank started out.

“I never can hear good over that ’phone,” the Californian said. “I’ll go in the furniture shop next door. I’ll be right back.”

“Give it up,” was his chum’s reply. “Maybe something about Tom’s spread.”

The boys enjoyed the play, and were fortunate enough to get back to college unobserved. Frank offered no explanation of his telephone message, and Sid and Phil did not think to ask questions.

The next day, when Phil and Sid were practicing on the field, a messenger came to summon Frank. The big lad hurried off, unheeding the calls of his chums.

Sid could not guess, but when Frank returned, about an hour later, they both “put it to him straight.”

“Why, there’s no mystery about it,” said Frank calmly. “I just went in to fix the old sofa. I got a new kind of brace for the back and seat and I wanted to glue ’em on in daylight. Don’t any of you fellows sit on it, if you get to the room before I do, or you’ll bust it worse than ever.”

They promised, but Frank took good care that they did not precede him to the room. As the three entered together, having surreptitiously arranged for the spread, Phil and Sid saw the sofa was covered with a winding sheet.

“No, it’s—er—the sofa,” explained Frank. “I just put that on so nobody would sit on it by mistake until it was dry. Come on, now, Tom will be here pretty soon. Let’s get ready for him. Have we got enough to eat?”

“I should hope so,” replied Sid, looking at the numerous packages, and then rather suspiciously at the sofa.

Tom was due to arrive about eight o’clock, and a little crowd of his friends was at the station to meet the train.

“Everything all right?” greeted Frank, as the tall pitcher stepped to the platform.

“Yes, we’re all ready for the lawsuit now, though I can’t say how it’s coming out. How are things here?”

“Fine,” replied Holly Cross. “We’re going to blow you—it’s Frank’s surprise.” And forthwith they escorted the returned one to college.

It required no little ingenuity on the part of the lads to get to the room of the inseparables unchallenged, but it was finally accomplished.

“For the love of mustard, what’s that?” demanded Tom, as he saw the sheeted sofa.

“Oh, that’s Frank’s work of reparation,” answered Phil. “He’s fixed the sofa. Isn’t it dry yet, you old Mugwump?”

“Yes, I think it is,” answered Frank. Then, taking his position near the article of furniture, he began cutting the string that held the sheet in place. He had tied it securely, a measure of precaution that alone had prevented Phil and Sid from lifting the veil to see what sort of a repair job the Big Californian had done.

“Boys,” went on Frank, as at last he was ready to pull off the sheet, “I have a little surprise for you.”

CHAPTER XVII
THE AUCTION

There was an eager pressing forward on the part of all in the room. Frank stood facing his chums and companions, a curious look on his face.

“Oh, go ahead, unveil the statue,” suggested Holly. “This suspense is terrible!”

With a sudden pull Frank whisked the sheet to one side, and there followed a gasp of astonishment. For a moment no one spoke. Surprise held them dumb. Then Tom found his voice.

“Catch me, somebody, before I faint!” gasped Phil, as he staggered back into the arms of Dutch Housenlager, who promptly deposited him on the floor.

And well might the three chums give vent to ejaculations of surprise, dismay and anguish.

For there, in place of the old sofa that had served them in calm and storm, in stress of disaster and in the joys of victories, there stood a new and shining piece of furniture—spick and span in bright green plush, with a glossy mahogany frame—a davenport, large, roomy, comfortable—the acme of luxury. The old sofa had been metamorphosed—it had suffered a “sea change into something new and strange,” as Holly quoted afterward.

“Wha—what has happened?” asked Phil weakly, rubbing his eyes to make sure it was not a vision of the night.

“Well, how do you like it, fellows?” asked Frank, after a momentous pause. “I thought, as long as I had broken the other sofa, that it was up to me to get a new one. We’ve been needing one a long time, and when I found that the other couldn’t be fixed very well, I just had the furniture man bring in this new one. It’s my treat. That’s what I telephoned about the night we went to the show. How do you like it?”

For a moment no one answered. Then Tom went slowly over to the new davenport, and softly felt of the springy seat.

Phil wet one finger, cautiously applied it to the green plush, and then pretended to taste of his digit, as though he was a doctor, sampling some new and rare kind of drug.

“Why, you mutts! of course it’s real,” gasped Frank. “It’s a new one in place of the old sofa. That isn’t any good any more. This is a dandy. Four of us can sit on it at once, the man said, and it won’t sag or break. Don’t you like it?”

“What—what did you do with our old one?” asked Tom solemnly. “Be careful now. Think well before you answer, and remember that whatever admissions you make may be used in court against you.”

“The janitor took it away, when you were out,” replied the conspirator. “Why—why, don’t you like this one?”

“Can’t you see, Frank? It doesn’t fit in. It doesn’t go with the rest of the things in the room? It’s too new—too shiny. It’s like a modern among the ancients. They clash!”

“I leave it to Holly—to Dutch—anybody,” burst out Frank. “It’s the best I could buy.”

“Of course it is, old chap,” admitted Tom. “That’s just the trouble. It’s too good—too nice—too new. It makes our rug, and the old armchairs—to say nothing of the clock—look like a second-hand store in the presence of a Louis the Fourteenth drawing room. It won’t do, old man.”

For a moment Frank stared at the new piece of furniture. Then he sat down on it, sinking low in its luxurious depths.

“I wonder,” began Phil gently, “I wonder if we could get it up again to-night, without making too much of a row? Somehow, I don’t like the idea of eating a spread in here with that new davenport staring us in the face. It’s like a stranger that hasn’t been properly introduced.”

“Oh, yes, I guess we can get the old one back,” agreed Frank, and, somehow his voice did not show much disappointment that his surprise had proved a boomerang. “I fixed it up, after a fashion, or, rather, I had the janitor do it. I was thinking we might give it to him.”

“This one surely doesn’t fit in this room—not with your other antiques,” ventured Holly Cross.

Frank got up, walked across the apartment, and took a survey of his surprise. Then he slowly shook his head.

“Fellows, I guess you’re right,” he admitted. “It clashes—doesn’t fill in right.”

“No,” answered Frank softly. “I’ll go tell the janitor now. I—I guess this can stay here for—er—well a day or two; can’t it?”

With a more cheerful air than his friends supposed he could assume under the circumstances, Frank threw the sheet back over the new sofa. Then he went to summon the janitor.

Presently, while the crowd in the room was beginning to open the packages of smuggled food, a noise was heard out in the corridor. Tom threw open the door.

“Dear old friend,” murmured Phil, while Sid gently pushed with his hand on the seat to ascertain if it would hold his weight.

“Wait,” Frank requested of the janitor. “I’ll help you carry this new one out. There isn’t room for the two in here.”

“Ah, but sure it’s a shame to put that one down cellar,” objected the janitor. “It’ll get all mildew.”

“It won’t be there long,” remarked Frank significantly, and when he came back, after having helped dispose of the new davenport, he carried a hammer and some tacks. He went to a desk and scribbled something on a sheet of paper.

Then he went out in the hall, and, presently his friends heard a gentle tapping on the door.

Sid swung wide the portal, and disclosed the Big Californian in the act of affixing a notice to the panels.

AUCTION SALE

The undersigned will dispose of, at auction in the gymnasium to-morrow afternoon, one brand new davenport, upholstered in green plush. Same has never been used, but the present owners desire to dispose of it. It will be sold, without reservation, to the highest bidder.

FRANK SIMPSON.

CHAPTER XVIII
TOM’S TEMPTATION

These were only a few of the questions that were put to the Big Californian, as a crowd of boys filed into the gymnasium the next day after the auction notice had been posted.

“Oh, it’s straight all right,” answered Frank. “The davenport, which is as new as heart could wish, will be sold to the highest bidder. We—er—that is I—bought it by mistake. We didn’t need it. Our old sofa has been fixed up.”

“Oh, but I say Frank,” expostulated Tom, when he got a chance to speak to his chum privately. “You could send this back to the store, and get nearly all you paid for it. You won’t get half what it’s worth, at auction.”

“I don’t give a hang. I’m going to sell it this way. It will be fun. Besides, whatever is realized is going into the athletic fund, anyhow. That’ll make bidding higher.”

“Maybe it will. But say, you must have struck it rich to blow in all that cash.”

“Oh, not so much. I got the davenport at a bargain, anyhow, and I thought it would be just the thing for our room. But I can see, now, that it isn’t. Say, there’s a good crowd coming, all right.”

“Yes, I saw Prexy, and explained how it was. He said I could auction it off. Proc. Zane put up a stiff kick, though, but Moses overruled him, and it’s going on. I guess the janitor has the old shebang on hand.”

“Yes, there it is,” answered Tom, as he and his friend entered the gymnasium, and caught sight of the new davenport, supported on two leathered-covered “horses.”

The crowd, laughing, talking, chaffing each other and the inseparables, filed into the big room, until it scarce could hold any more. Frank took his place in front of the piece of furniture, and soon the bidding was under way.

It began low, but was spirited enough. Sid, Tom and Phil refrained from raising the bids, but there was no lack of others. By small advances the price crept up to seven dollars. There it hung for a while.

“The Jersey twins are bidding against each other, and they don’t know it. This is rich! Frank will get more than he paid if this keeps on!”

The bidding became more spirited, being confined chiefly to Shambler, and the two twins, the latter, being in separate parts of the big auditorium, not knowing that they were whip-sawing one another.

Finally, when the price reached fourteen dollars and thirty-five cents, the davenport was knocked down to Shambler, who ordered the piece of furniture taken to his room.

“It will do to stretch out on when I come in from a run,” he remarked to some of his intimate friends. And, though Tom had no special interest in what became of Frank’s “surprise,” as it had been dubbed, still the pitcher felt himself wishing that someone else besides Shambler had secured it.

The new student seemed to feel that the purchasing of the davenport from one of the inseparables entitled him to a closer acquaintanceship with them. For, a few days after the auction, he called at their room, and made himself rather at home.

“Cosy place you’ve got here,” he remarked, blowing cigarette smoke about in clouds. “Quite a collection of antiques.”

“Yes, we like old things best,” remarked Tom significantly, wondering whether the lines about “old books, and old friends,” would recur to Shambler. But it did not seem to.

“Well, it won’t be long before we have the Spring games,” went on the visitor. “I’ll be glad of it, too, for I’m training hard, too hard, I guess. I’m going to have a little recreation to-night. Some friends and I are going in to town. Don’t some of you want to come along?”

“I’m taking chances, too,” went on Shambler. “I’ve been caught two or three times, lately, and Zane warned me that the next time would mean suspension. But I’ll chance it. A fellow has to have some fun. Any of you smoke?” and he extended his box of cigarettes.

“It’s bad—when you’re in training,” remarked Phil. “Count us out.”

“You, too, Parsons?” asked Shambler. “Say, by the way,” he went on, “I met a friend of yours the other night. Miss Tyler, of Fairview. At least she said she knew you. Fine girl.”

“Yes,” half growled Tom, the blood flushing his face. “I’m going to see if there’s any mail,” he added quickly, as he left the room.

“Anything wrong?” asked Shambler of the others. “Have I been poaching on his preserves?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” replied Phil, with significant glances at his chums.

“Not much!” exclaimed the visitor. “I have a notion he has a hasty temper. But aren’t any of you coming to town for a lark?”

No one was, evidently, and Shambler soon took his leave. It was some time before Tom returned, and he had no letters. His chums did not bring up the subject of his going out.

Tom, in preparation for the examinations, had permission that night to spend some time in the rooms of a senior who had volunteered to coach him on some points wherein our hero was a bit behind in his class. The senior’s room was in another dormitory from where Tom and his chums roomed, being across the campus.

It was after midnight when the tall pitcher was on his way back to his own particular part of the college, and, as he was about to open the dormitory main door, with a pass key with which he had been provided, a dark figure hurried up the steps from the shadow of a statue on the campus, and stood at his side.

“I say!” came in a cautious whisper. “Let me in with you, will you? I overstayed in town, and I don’t want to be caught.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Tom, wondering for a moment who was speaking, and then he recognized Shambler’s voice.

“It’s Parsons!” whispered the new student, evidently much relieved. “I’m in luck! I’ve been waiting here half an hour hoping Zane’s light would go out, and that I could bribe one of the janitors, or a monitor, to let me in. But the old Proc. is staying up infernally late. But it’s all right now. You have a key; haven’t you.”

“Talk about luck!” exulted Shambler, as he slipped in ahead of Tom, who stood back to let him pass in first. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

Tom did not answer. A wave of revulsion against this lad seemed to sweep over him, and he recalled a certain day in the woods when he had seen the fellow with Madge Tyler.

Shambler, not seeming to notice the grouchiness of his companion, passed hurriedly along the dark corridor toward his room. Tom walked more slowly, having made sure that the door was locked after him. He had not gone half a dozen steps, before the door of the proctor’s office opened, and Mr. Zane stepped out.

“Parsons,” replied our hero. “I had permission. I was studying with Morrison.”

“In with me?” repeated Tom, for he had hoped that this question would not be asked.

“Yes, I heard the footsteps of two, and you were the only one in this dormitory who had permission to be out to-night. Who came in with you?”

“I demand to know,” said the proctor sternly. “You let someone in; did you not?”

Tom hesitated for a moment, but it was only a moment. There came an instant of temptation. He recalled what Shambler had said about the probability of suspension if he was caught again.

“And it would be a good thing if he did go,” thought Tom bitterly. “Good for Randall—good. But then the games! We need him!”

Then he knew that it was a selfish motive that was urging him to take advantage of the chance thrown in his way.

“Very well. I will see you in the morning,” and, turning on his heel, the proctor went back into his office.

CHAPTER XIX
THE TRY-OUTS

There must have been rather a strenuous time between Dr. Churchill and Proctor Zane early the next morning—a discussion concerning college ethics that, as Tom learned later, had a bearing on his own case. But nothing came of it, and though at chapel Dr. Churchill spoke rather solemnly on “duty” he made no direct reference to anyone.

Tom was not summoned to the proctor’s office, for which he was duly thankful, not that he felt that he would have betrayed Shambler, but he did not like to be cross-questioned.

Just how the news leaked out no one could say, but such things do become known, more or less, in all colleges, and it was common rumor that the proctor and the president had differed materially on the point of making Tom tell. But Dr. Churchill won his contention, and the episode became a closed one.

As the days of Spring wore on, with the grass growing greener, and the weather more and more mild, there came over all a spirit of unrest, and yet not so much unrest as it was a desire to be up and doing.

The diamond was being put in shape. The line-up of the nine was already much talked of, but, overshadowing all this, was the prospect of the track games. Several meetings had been held of the committees in charge of the proposed big meet, and final details were being gradually worked out.

It had been practically decided that the affair would be held in Tonoka Park. This was a sort of summer resort near Tonoka Lake, which gave the name to the football and baseball leagues, of which I have written elsewhere.

Exter, the new member of the league, showed a disposition to have the meet held on their own athletic grounds, which a millionaire had presented to the institution, with much display of black type in the newspapers. But the contentions of Randall, Boxer Hall and Fairview were heeded. They were to the effect that a neutral field was fairer for all concerned.

But there was much else to be done. While, naturally, I have dwelt mostly on the doings at Randall in this volume, of course much the same things were being done at the other three institutions.

There was practice, practice and still more practice, on all sides. Trainers and coachers were busy at each college, and the gymnasiums and fields presented animated scenes every day. Everyone was training hard, for this was the first holding of the quadruple meet, and each college wanted to win.

It had been decided that the total number of points scored should decide the winner. And, to this end, the rules of the Amateur Athletic Union had been adopted.

“How many events are going to be run off?” asked Tom one afternoon, as Holly Cross and Kindlings were holding a consultation. “When are we going to know ’em?”

“We can tell you now what events will likely be the main ones,” answered Holly. “Of course, more may be added after we have the final try-outs and pick those who are to hold up the honor of Randall.

“There’ll be a mile run, a hurdle race, high jumping, broad jumping, putting the fifty-six pound weight, the sixteen pound shot, and the hammer-throw. Then there’ll be a pole-vaulting contest, and probably a hundred-yard dash. Oh, there’s to be honor and glory enough for all who make good.”

“And the try-outs?” asked Sid. “I’d like to know if I’ve got to train to the minute.”

“We all have!” exclaimed Holly. “Not a man at Randall can afford to grow stale. Hello, there comes Shambler. I’m hoping a lot from him. If he pulls down the mile run for us it will help a lot. Then we’re depending on Dutch in the weight contest, and—well, but what’s the use of talking—we’re counting on every man in Randall. We want to win all the events if we can.”

“Well, everybody on his mark!” went on Holly. “I think the final try-outs will be held in a few days, and then we’ll know who we’ll have to depend on specially. Of course there may be changes later on, but we want to get a line on where we stand.”

For the next few days practice went on unceasingly. From early morning until dusk fell some of the boys were out on the field, running, leaping, springing, using the pole, testing themselves in the broad or high jump, taking hurdles or throwing weights or hammers. And the four inseparables did their share.

Shambler, too, was active. He was rapidly forging to the front as one of the best athletes that had ever worn the “R” of Randall, and though many did not care much for him, even his enemies had to admit that he was likely to bring honor to the college.

“That was mighty white of you, old man, not to give me away,” he said to Tom, one day, after the rumor of the demand made by the proctor had become quite well known. “I’ll not forget it, either, I assure you.”

“All right—don’t get caught—that’s all,” was Tom’s not very gracious reply.

Tom wondered whether he meant his own fortunes, or those of Randall, and he could not help thinking of the shabby man who had been so eager to get money from the new student.

“Come on! Come on! Everybody on the job!” cried Holly Cross one fine afternoon. “This is the last chance! Final try-outs this afternoon!”

The crowd of athletes poured from the gymnasium, where the notice had been posted for some time, and flocked out on the field, ready to do their best to win the coveted places of defending the honor of Randall.

“We’ll have the mile run first,” decided Kindlings, after a talk with Holly. “We’ll pick the three best men to go in the games against Boxer Hall, Fairview and Exter. Come on now, you fellows who are going to run.”

An eager crowd watched the preparations and warm-up practice. Then came the crack of the pistol, and the field was off.

It is not my purpose here to describe the preliminary trials in detail, so I will merely state that Shambler came out first in the mile run, with Tom Parsons second and Jerry Jackson third.

“They’ll go in for Randall,” announced Holly, as he jotted down the names. “Now for the broad jump.”

In this Frank Simpson came out ahead, with Sid Henderson second and Pete Backus third.

“But I’m going to win when it comes to the final,” declared Pete earnestly. “I haven’t had enough practice yet.”

“And you’ll never get it, I’m afraid,” said Kindlings under his breath. Still he could not help but admire the persistency of “the grasshopper.”

There was much interest in the one hundred and twenty yard hurdle race, and this promised to be one of the best events on the card.

The new pieces of apparatus were used, and worked well. Phil Clinton came out ahead, but Joe Jackson was a close second. When it came to picking third there was hard work, for Sam Looper, Dan Woodhouse, Kindlings and Sid Henderson were so well bunched that it was hard to decide, and the six were put down as possible starters against the rival colleges.

In the high jump Berry Foster was first, with Jim Weston second and Paul Hughes third. Dutch Housenlager, with his big bunches of muscles easily won the palm at throwing the fifty-six pound weight, Dan Woodhouse being second and Bean Perkins, who said it would not interfere with his shouting abilities, coming out third.

Phil Clinton easily distanced the others at the pole vaulting contest, Red Warren being second and Holly Cross third; while at putting the sixteen pound shot, Dan Woodhouse won, with Frank Simpson second and Sid as a good third.

“Now that we’ve got this much settled we can come somewhere knowing where we’re at,” declared Holly, after the final try-outs. “This doesn’t mean that none of you fellows haven’t a chance,” he hastened to add, “for we may need any one of you yet, so keep in training.”

“Well, I’m glad this much is over,” remarked Tom, as he joined his three chums, who were walking toward the gymnasium for a welcome shower bath.

“Same here!” cried a voice behind them, and Shambler came running up. “Say,” he cried, “I wish the games were to-morrow, instead of a week or more off. I’m as fit as a fiddle!”

In what was probably the exuberance of his animal spirits he came running up, and, with a leap landed on Frank’s back.

But Frank, who was rather tired, was in no mood for horse-play of this character. He slewed around, slumped over and fairly dumped Shambler off his shoulders.

A moment later the new student came down heavily on Frank’s foot with his spiked running shoes. There was a cry of pain from Frank, a well-meant gasp of apology from the offender, and then the lad from the state of the Golden Gate limped painfully to one side.

He would have fallen had not Phil caught him, while the others gathered about Shambler with a look of concern on his face.

CHAPTER XX
“WE NEED EVERY POINT”

“Say, old man, I’m mighty sorry about that!” cried the lad who had caused the mischief, as he put his arm about Frank. “I wouldn’t have done it for the world—I slipped. Are you badly hurt?”

It needed but a glance at Frank’s shoe, whence came a few drops of blood, to show that he was painfully hurt, if not seriously crippled.

“No, it’s not as bad as that,” said Frank. “Get my shoe off, fellows, and——”

A spasm of pain prevented him from finishing the sentence and he sat down on the ground. Tom had the shoe off quickly.

It was seen that two of the spikes on Shambler’s sole had gone through the outer, fleshy part of Frank’s foot. There was a little bleeding, but it soon stopped.

“That’s got to be looked at at once!” decided Holly Cross when he saw it. “You’re likely to go lame, old man.”

“Jove! That’s bad,” murmured Phil, and several black looks were cast at Shambler, for all the lads knew how much depended on Frank in the broad jumping contest.

“Oh, I guess I’ll be all right,” spoke the injured lad, whose pain was abated somewhat with the removal of the shoe, for his foot had begun to swell. “It’s all right, Shambler. I know you didn’t mean to do it. I’ll be in shape for the meet all right.”

“I hope so, old man,” spoke the new lad sincerely, and his former joyous spirits seemed to have slipped from him like a garment. Tom felt himself disliking Shambler with a feeling that was akin to hate, and he had to fight hard to keep control of his temper. As it was he murmured under his breath:

“Come on, boys, we’ll have to give Frank a hand up,” suggested Holly. “Help him to his room, and we’ll get the Doc to look at him.”

Willing hands assisted Frank along, so that he did not have to bear any weight on his injured foot. Shambler wanted to help, but Tom, Sid and Phil insisted on giving “first aid,” and they were sufficient.

The physician looked grave when he saw the injury, not so much at the nature of the hurt itself, for it was comparatively slight, but he was concerned for what might develop.

“I don’t see how you’re going to do any jumping for the next month,” said the physician, when told that Frank was expected to hold up Randall’s end of the big events.

“Oh, but I’ve got to!” declared the Big Californian. “To paraphrase the old saying, ‘Randall expects every lad to do his duty.’ I’ve got to jump.”

“Then I have to tell you that if you do, you may lame yourself for the rest of your life,” went on the doctor seriously. “Some of the tendons are cut, and unless they heal properly you are liable to tear them loose if you put too much strain on them. You’ve got to be careful.”

Frank groaned, and his chums looked anxious. Holly Cross and Kindlings, who were at the conference, shook their heads.

“We’ll just have to make other arrangements then,” said Holly, as he walked out with his companion manager. “If Frank can’t jump he may be able to help out in the hammer, or weight-throwing contests.”

“We’ll try that, as soon as he’s able to be up,” decided Kindlings. “This is bad business. I’ll give Shambler a call down. He’s too fresh.”

“No, I wouldn’t say anything,” said Holly. “He feels badly enough as it is, and we don’t want any more disruption among the fellows than possible. We aren’t going to have any walkover in these games.”

“I guess you’re right. Well, we’ll do our best, but I wish this hadn’t happened.”

Frank’s foot was very painful the next day, and much swollen, but the doctor said there was no special cause for alarm, as it had been treated with antiseptics.

But the Big Californian had to keep in bed, and this was irksome to him, as he was naturally active. Phil, Tom and Sid did all they could to make his imprisonment cheerful, and Shambler called several times, to express over and over again his regret at his carelessness. The others took rather a liking to him, but Tom could not bring himself to be friendly. He was sure Shambler had some secret that he was afraid would be discovered.

Tom had not seen Madge Tyler since the memorable day of the May walk, but from his chums, who paid several visits to the co-educational institution, the pitcher learned that Madge had not been out with Shambler since.

“I believe she did it just to spite me, because of that little incident with Miss Benson,” reasoned Tom.

A week after the accident Frank was able to step on his foot, but the doctor strictly forbade any violent exercise. However he did not prohibit practice at weight throwing, and Frank soon proved himself an expert at this, almost equaling Dutch, so that Holly and Kindlings made a temporary shift in their list of entrants.

“But I’ll be in the jump all right,” asserted Frank, and rather to the surprise of the doctor the injured foot healed so well and rapidly that there was a prospect, after all, that the Big Californian could take the place originally assigned to him.

“I hope he can,” said Holly. “For we need him, and Sid Henderson, while he’s good, isn’t quite up to Frank’s mark.”

Sid knew this himself, but he was, by constant work, gradually improving. Meanwhile hard practice went on among the various track squads.

The grounds at Tonoka Park were being put in shape for the big quadruple meet, and there was every prospect of success. The various committees held frequent meetings, and it was said that many tickets were being disposed of, so that there was a prospect of well-filled treasuries.

Many of the lads against whom Tom and his chums had played football or baseball were to uphold the colors of Boxer Hall and Fairview. As regarded Exter little was known, though it was rumored that a number of well-known amateurs were enrolled under her banner.

“Exter is the only one we haven’t a good line on,” said Holly Cross one afternoon, as he called at the room of the inseparables to inquire about Frank, who was almost himself again.

“Why, you don’t have any fear about her fellows; do you?” asked Tom, taking the call as an excuse to stop studying.

“Yes, I do, in a way. I tell you, boys, Randall will need every point she can pile up. You know how we score, with a thousand points as the maximum for the best in each class of events. Seconds and fractions of inches count, so don’t forget that, and go for every last ounce of strength or wind that you have. A point in any event may make or break us.”

“Indeed it will. Every man of Randall will have to be strictly on the job, as I’ve said before. This isn’t a football match, where, if you don’t make a touchdown one quarter, you may the next.” Holly spoke seriously.

“I’m sure I hope so,” spoke the young trainer, as he took his leave, warning Frank to take care of himself, and get in the best possible condition.

“Sure I will. I saw the doctor, and while he said I must be careful, still, he didn’t absolutely forbid me as he did at first. I’ll do my best.”

There followed a period of silence in the room, after Holly had left. The four tried to study, but their thoughts were plainly more on the coming games than on their books. Finally Tom, tossing aside his Latin book, gave a big yawn and said:

“I’m going for a row. It’s too nice to stay in, and there isn’t any practice ordered for this afternoon. Who’s coming out on the river with me?”

“No, I’m back in my work, and I’ve just got to make it up, or I’ll be conditioned, and you know what that means. You and Frank are the brainy pair; you go.”

CHAPTER XV TOM IS SUSPICIOUS

CHAPTER XVI FRANK’S SURPRISE

CHAPTER XVII THE AUCTION

CHAPTER XVIII TOM’S TEMPTATION