FLANAHAN STRIKES OUT
MR. GRAHAM was at home again, to the relief of both school authorities
and boys. He, of course, heard the tale of the robbery of the safe
immediately after his arrival, and went over the matter exhaustively
with Miss Devon, whose troubled mind was definitely comforted by the
Principal’s emphatic assurance that she was wholly beyond suspicion.
Later he was given Mr. Moore’s version.
“I am sure we are making too much of the matter,” said the teacher in
conclusion. “We have been a little careless, and are paying a moderate
fine for our offence.”
“The loss is to me the most unimportant consideration,” said Mr. Graham.
“I would gladly sacrifice the money to learn how it disappeared. If a
professional burglar took it, we are simply chance sufferers. If a boy
took it, the act was probably due to some desperate distress and sudden
temptation. That would mean, according to my experience, either gambling
or a bad case of extravagance and debt. These are not pleasant
conditions to surmise, but if they exist, I should like to know
definitely about them.”
“Oh dear!” exclaimed Mr. Moore, to whom such a possibility had never
occurred.
“Mind, I don’t say that a boy did it,” Mr. Graham hastened to add. “I am
merely explaining why I want to _know_ that he did not. Eddy seemed to
be very nervous when I questioned him this morning.”
“He was probably frightened at being examined twice,” said Mr. Moore. “I
saw nothing of it when I talked with him. Have you considered the
possibility that Miss Devon—”
“What?” asked the Principal, as the other hesitated.
“May know more than she has told?”
“No, indeed!” replied the Principal. “Miss Devon is as honest as the day
and as methodical as a machine. I have known her for years. It seems to
me an act of injustice even to discuss the question.”
The Principal’s manner was not as sharp as his words, but Mr. Moore,
whose life experiences had developed in him a goodly portion of caution,
if not many other mental possessions of a practical character, felt no
encouragement to continue the argument.
“And to me an act of treachery to suspect the boys,” he said
good-humoredly, “and so we are thrown back again on the hypothesis of
burglary; but I leave the problem with you. It is a relief to drop the
burden of it from my shoulders.”
The Principal watched him as he trudged down the walk to the street, a
stout, square figure marching sturdily and complacently, substantial
behind, benevolent of aspect before. Mr. Graham was also cautious, and
his thoughts, as he stood at the window, he would never have uttered;
but they ran something like this: “Poor gullible old Moore! The years go
by and leave with him more text-book knowledge and more satisfaction in
his attainments, but not an additional jot of practical sense. Burglars
indeed! Miss Devon may not be sure that she locked the window, but I am,
and that to me, at least, is of more consequence. When a person of her
systematic habits has done the same thing daily for the last five years,
it is highly improbable that she forgot it on that particular day.
Therefore the open fastening was a blind to make appearances indicate
that the thief entered through the window. Therefore he did _not_ enter
by the window, but by one of the doors. So far I have fairly
satisfactory reasoning behind me, but here I begin to jump at
conclusions. The thief came in by the passage door, and was a student.
“Why a student? Because it was an enterprise which a desperate student
might very possibly conceive, but the servants never. And if a
student,—then there certainly exists somewhere in the school a
plague-spot which must be discovered and cleansed. What a delightful
prospect for a half-sick, nerve-worn man to come home to!”
Up the path from the street came a youthful figure of medium height,
planting foot after foot with an air of business and determination.
“Sands!” said Mr. Graham to himself. “Another unpleasant task, but this
at least will soon be over.”
“You sent for me, Mr. Graham.”
“Yes, to talk with you about Flanahan. Are you likely to want him on the
nine?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the boy with a wondering face. “He’s our best
pitcher.”
“Then I am glad that I can give you such early notice. He will probably
not be allowed to play.”
“Why not, sir?”
“Because I am convinced from various facts which I have learned that he
is not a proper person to play on our teams.”
“Do you think that we are hiring him, sir?” said Sands, a flush of
indignation burning on his cheeks.
Mr. Graham looked at the student sharply. On the boy’s face was an
expression of bitter disappointment and of indignation, but no sign of
guilt. “No, I do not,” he replied heartily. “We haven’t fallen so low as
that.”
“What is it, then, that you have against him?”
“Simply that he is not considered an amateur above suspicion of taint. I
made some inquiries concerning him before my return, and the results
were, in my opinion, conclusive.”
“Are you _sure_ about it?”
“Sure as to my opinion, which I may also say is the opinion of Mr.
Wallace, who helped me in the investigation. The wisest course for
Flanahan would be to withdraw voluntarily from the baseball practice and
devote himself to the work for which he says he came here.”
“Is this final?” came through Sands’s quivering lips. “Isn’t he to have
a chance to hear the charges and defend himself?”
“Certainly, if he desires it,” replied Mr. Graham, promptly. “You may
come, too, and a few others who are especially interested. I want to be
fair to you all, but my first duty is to the school.”
The news was quickly abroad, discussed in every room and at every
dormitory entrance. The boys naturally favored the unjustly oppressed,
though some of the older fellows of influence, like John Curtis,
Dickinson, and Melvin, who were not baseball players, sided with the
Principal. Sands was disconsolate, Flanahan furious. The latter had
talked with Mr. Graham, and returned greatly excited and able to give
only a most incoherent account of the interview. On the main subject the
pitcher’s explanations were not entirely satisfactory to his supporters.
He asserted wildly, denied sweepingly, and fortified his statements by
expletives which repelled the decent-minded.
Sands himself was somewhat ashamed of his protégé, as he led him into
the Principal’s room for the hearing and sat down at his side, near the
door. Mr. Graham had not yet come in. Melvin and Varrell sat near his
desk at the upper end of the long room, opposite the door; at the side
were Curtis and Arthur Wheelock, the manager, and several others.
The tension of the waiting seemed to be telling on Flanahan’s nerves.
His naturally red face had taken on a deeper hue; his eyes shifted
rapidly from point to point; his fists opened and closed and shook
convulsively; his head nodded in sudden jerks in emphatic support of the
whispered assertions which Sands seemed to be rather combating than
listening to.
“Did you hear that?” said Varrell, with his eyes fixed on the pair.
“Of course I didn’t, nor you either,” said Melvin. “I can’t hear
whispers at that distance. Sands looks like a man trying to hold a
fighting bulldog. I don’t envy him his friend.”
“Sh!” said Varrell, still staring at the two. “The fellow’s wild. He’s
just threatened to smash Mr. Graham’s face. Sands can’t control him.
Quiet! I’ll repeat for you.”
Dick gaped in wonder. He could see Flanahan’s fierce manner, his
clenched fists and lips excitedly moving, but not a single distinct
sound reached him. Varrell, with eyes glued on the gesticulating man,
began to repeat in phrases which matched the pitcher’s agitated nods:—
“I’m no professional. Whoever says so is a liar. If he tells me so
again, I’ll smash his face. Yes, I will; and I don’t care who he is,
whether he’s Principal of this old place or not. He’s no better than me.
I’ll take it out of him if he gives me any lip,—just see if I don’t! I
know what he’s been up to. He’s been sneaking around Brockville. What I
got from Brockville was too small to count,—hardly more than expenses.
Let me alone, I tell you. I can take care of myself. ‘Fired?’ What do I
care about being fired! Just let him say a word and I’ll baste him one
in the jaw that he’ll remember.”—“I’ve omitted the cuss words,” added
Varrell, in another tone.
Mr. Graham entered and walked toward his desk.
“Did he really say that, Wrenn?” whispered Dick. “Are you fooling or
not?”
Varrell gave him an indignant look. “Of course he said it, and he meant
it, too. Do you think I’d fool about a thing like this?”
“How’d you know?”
“Don’t ask that now, you idiot! Just watch the Irishman and see that he
doesn’t do anything reckless.”
At Mr. Graham’s suggestion the boys took seats near his desk. The
Principal then read aloud two or three letters, reported certain facts
which he had himself discovered, repeated the opinion of Mr. Wallace,
and then asked Flanahan what he had to say.
“Most of those things are lies,” said the pitcher, fiercely. “I ain’t a
professional; if they say so, they lie.”
“There’s a difference of opinion as to what constitutes a professional,”
said Mr. Graham, kindly. “We will not argue about the name. The question
for us is, whether you satisfy our standard. If you have ever received
money for playing, whether the sum was large or small, we cannot allow
you to play on our teams.”
“I tell you it’s just an attempt to blacken my reputation as an
amateur,” screamed Flanahan. “I don’t care whether I play on this measly
team or not, but whoever says I’m not an amateur is a liar.”
Mr. Graham rose. “You forget yourself, Flanahan,” he said sternly.
Flanahan choked an instant; then, beside himself with fury, burst forth
in a flood of personal invective and threats, aimed directly at the
Principal. So unexpected and so unparalleled was the outbreak that most
of the audience sat silent and aghast, not knowing what to think or do.
There were three, however, to whom a few expressions were warning
enough. Melvin and Varrell sprang forward, clutched the irate
ball-player by the arms and swung him about, while Sands leaped to their
support from the other side. As Flanahan cursed and struggled, Curtis
and Wheelock came to their senses and lent assistance. Together they
hustled the furious rebel out at the door, like a half-back driven
through a hole in the line on a tandem play. A few seconds later Mr.
Graham was standing in the empty room conscious of a curious mixture of
feelings,—mortification that such a scene should have been possible, but
delight in the unhesitating loyalty of the boys.
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Around the corner of Carter, Dick Melvin’s two hands held Varrell’s
shoulders hard pressed against the brick wall. “No, you don’t! It’s of
no use to squirm, because I’m not going to let you off. This thing has
got to be explained, and with it some other mysteries. The more I think
about it, the more there is to explain. You knew what Phil and I were
muttering when you were out of hearing in the next room; you heard what
this blood-thirsty villain was whispering to Sands twenty-five feet
away; you saw little Eddy in Bosworth’s room, talking about the safe,
and you knew what he said. Sometimes you don’t know what is going on
right beside you; sometimes you hear what two fellows are saying to each
other across the street. No juggling, now! Out with the secret, and be
quick about it, or I’ll—”
“You’re a fool, Dick,” retorted the smiling Wrenn, “or you wouldn’t have
to ask me. Let me go, and I’ll come in after supper and tell you. Let me
go, do you hear?”
“Well then, till to-night! If you’re not on hand by seven, I’ll come
after you and squeeze the life out of you,—like this,” he added,
catching poor Wrenn under the arms, and giving him a hug that threatened
to crush in all his ribs at once.
“No more of that!” gasped Varrell. “I’ll come.”
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