THE DECISION OF THE COURT
“WE certainly ought to hear to-night,” said Melvin on Monday, as, with
Phil and Dickinson, he hung round the office, waiting for the mail to be
distributed. “If the letters arrived Saturday, and the people attended
to the matter promptly, the answers might have been mailed Saturday
night.”
“More likely they didn’t arrive until Saturday night or this morning,”
replied Dickinson, who took a less optimistic view. “Then if the people
are like most others when you ask them for a favor, they’ll get round to
the thing on Tuesday or later, and the letters may arrive on Thursday or
any time during the following week—if indeed they are written at all.”
Nothing for Melvin; nothing for Dickinson; two papers for Varrell;
Dick’s heart sank.
“We have all day to-morrow, and the first mail on Wednesday,” he said at
length, as the trio turned gloomily homeward.
A figure passed them on the other side of the lane, hurrying toward the
office.
“Here are a couple of papers for you, Varrell,” called Phil. But Varrell
was already past, unresponsive to the hail.
“Throw them at him!” growled Dickinson. “He never hears anything when
his back is turned.”
Phil hit the mark, and Varrell stooped for the parcels.
“Not a letter, Wrenn, not a blamed letter for any of us; just these
papers for you. I felt like throwing them into the river!”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” replied Varrell, studying the postmark. “I’ll
take half a loaf any time, even if you fellows get no bread. Old
newspapers are sometimes valuable.”
Tuesday was not a day of profitable study for Melvin. He went to his
recitations, but in some he got excused, and in others he blundered most
shabbily. His whole attention was given to waiting on the mails. In the
morning nothing, in the afternoon nothing, at night a single
be-smooched, bescrawled envelope, bearing the postmark “Ralston,
Indiana”!
“The jewel at last,” grinned Varrell, as he read the address over
Melvin’s shoulder. “Open the case!”
“It isn’t a joking matter,” replied Dick, seriously. “A good deal hangs
on this letter.”
“Dirt especially,” said Varrell. “Come, open it up!”
Melvin cut the envelope carefully and brought the following to light:—
This is to sertify that Jim Dickson did not run in the 4th July
Sports as advertysed
Yours resply
Michael Ryan
“Is that all?” asked Varrell.
Melvin examined again. “Everything.”
“I’m afraid he couldn’t pass English A,” said Varrell.
They walked for some minutes in silence, Melvin too much disgusted with
his companion’s flippancy to speak.
“If you can talk seriously, I’d like to ask you something,” he said at
length; “but I don’t want any more nonsense.”
“I’m serious,” replied Varrell, gravely.
“What do you think of it? Will they take it or not?”
“I’m afraid it’s no good,” said Varrell. “What they want is evidence
complete and certain, that can’t be dodged or questioned or denied. This
is proof only to those who will accept its authority; it isn’t what they
call irrefragable.”
Melvin groaned. “You might at least have spared me a word like that.”
The grin stole back upon Varrell’s face. Melvin turned away indignant
and disheartened.
Varrell clutched the stern-faced youth by the arm. “Dick, don’t go off
mad! I’m not so useless as I seem. Come up to the room and let me show
you something.”
Ten minutes later, the athletic manager came plunging down the stairs
four steps at a time, his face aglow with smiles, his whole being
radiant with the joy that follows a long-borne disappointment, as the
sun comes forth more glorious after slow dark days of northeast storm.
“The old rascal!” he muttered; “the shrewd old foxy rascal! and he’s had
the thing in his pocket all day! I felt like kicking him and hugging him
at the same time. If I could only have a try at the high jump now!
Couldn’t I do six feet!”
Two flights down, across the yard, two flights up! He found Dickinson
with his nose in a dictionary of antiquities, packing away learning by
the cubic inch. The nose came out in a trice; when it went back, a good
half hour afterward, it had lost somewhat the keenness of its scent for
facts, and the two eyes above it gleamed bright and determined. Thence
the manager hied him home to bed, and slept nine solid, refreshing
hours.
The official student representative on the Hillbury-Seaton athletic
committee was the captain of the team. As Dickinson was naturally
excluded from the discussion by the fact that his own name was under
protest, Melvin was to take his place. He was accompanied to the station
by Curtis and Varrell.
“Rub it in if you get the chance,” said Curtis, savagely. “It’s one of
their tricks; don’t spare ’em.”
“I hope you’ll do no such thing,” said the pacific Varrell. “It wouldn’t
be either courteous or safe. I believe they’re quite square about the
thing; and you must assume that they are, anyway, even if you think
differently.”
“I agree with you,” said Dick, thoughtfully. “The advertisement
certainly gives a very strong ground for suspicion, and our case isn’t
so sure that we can afford to stir up any unpleasant feelings.”
“The main thing is to go carefully and arouse as little opposition as
possible,” continued Varrell. “Stick to the plan we laid out if you
can.”
The train came roaring and clanking in.
“Don’t let ’em fool you, anyway,” said Curtis, giving a hard grip to the
manager’s arm. “Come back victorious or we’ll lynch you.”
“And don’t play your trump card first,” added Varrell.
The meeting was held in Boston. The committee was composed of six
members, one from the students, one from the faculty, and one from the
alumni, of each school. Hillbury was represented by Professor Loder, Mr.
Harkins, a shrewd lawyer, and Captain McGee of the Hillbury track team.
For Seaton appeared besides Melvin, Mr. Pope to represent the faculty,
and Dr. Brayton, a young Boston surgeon, who, with all the engagements
and responsibilities of a busy practice, was still willing to undergo
some sacrifice to serve his school. Mr. Pope was made chairman and
Professor Loder secretary.
“Our business is to decide concerning the protest made by the Hillbury
manager against Dickinson,” said the chairman. “I will read the protest
and then ask Mr. Harkins, who is used to presenting cases in court, to
make a statement of the charges.”
“I’m used to appearing as attorney, not as judge,” returned the lawyer,
smiling. “Here we are acting in a judicial capacity.”
Dick studied the lawyer’s face as the protest was read, and came
speedily to the conclusion that he should like Mr. Harkins less as judge
than as attorney. The face was mobile and intelligent, yet something in
its lines suggested unscrupulousness. Dick had but little time in which
to gain this impression, for Mr. Harkins’s words, rather than his face,
now received his whole attention.
“The charge, briefly stated, is that Dickinson has been associated with
professional runners in an open race, contrary to the most fundamental
rule of amateur athletics.”
“When and where?” inquired Dr. Brayton, turning to the Hillbury captain.
“On July fourth of last year, in Ralston, Indiana,” replied McGee,
promptly.
“What is your source of information?”
“The advertisements. Mr. Harkins, will you kindly pass the poster to Dr.
Brayton?”
It was a large-lettered notice, such as one frequently sees displayed in
shop windows, announcing among other attractions a race for a prize of
fifteen dollars, in which Smith, Doyle, Jackson, and “J. W. Dickinson,
who holds many school and college records,” would compete.
The fateful poster passed from hand to hand about the table. Dick
awaited his turn with curiosity, yet with a heavy sinking of the heart.
Was it possible that this miserable sheet of coarse paper should have
power to work so much harm?
“What answer does Dickinson make?” said Dr. Brayton, at length, turning
to Melvin.
“He denies that he has ever run in any race in his life except in the
Seaton and Hillbury contests,” answered Melvin, speaking with a little
tremor in his voice, but yet composedly and coolly. “The advertisement
was made without his consent or knowledge.”
“While it may seem invidious to question the sufficiency of a man’s
word,” said Mr. Harkins, with a bland smile, “I think you gentlemen will
all agree with me that we should be false to our duty if we accepted Mr.
Dickinson’s unsupported denial as a conclusive answer to the protest.”
“Of course,” replied Dr. Brayton, promptly. “The only question is where
the burden of proof lies.”
“On the defendant, I should say very positively,” said Professor Loder.
“We are striving to maintain our contests on such a high plane that not
a breath of suspicion can be cast on the amateur standing of any one who
competes in them. This advertisement has thrown serious doubts on the
eligibility of Dickinson for the school sports. It is for him to clear
himself of suspicion.”
A moment’s silence followed before Mr. Harkins spoke again: “If I may be
allowed another word, I should like to add that the principle to be
followed is not the maxim of the criminal courts,—‘It is better that
nine guilty men escape rather than that one innocent man should
suffer,’—but the famous direction of President Grant, ‘Let no guilty man
escape!’ Less harm is done by barring five unfairly than by allowing one
to compete who has forfeited his privilege.”
“You and I were not so sure about that twenty years ago,” said Dr.
Brayton, with a smile. “If you displace a man unjustly, you interfere
with the equality of the representation, and the contests are again
unfair. What we are after here is the facts in the case. We all agree
that this poster raises a reasonable doubt as to the eligibility of
Dickinson. Is this all we are to know about it?”
“Mr. Melvin has some counter evidence to put in,” said the chairman.
Dick awoke with a start. He had been so much absorbed in following the
argument of the older members of the committee that he had for the
moment forgotten the task devolving on him.
“I think I ought to say,” remarked Melvin, as he drew from his pocket
the illiterate missive of Michael Ryan, “that this protest was entirely
unexpected, and we were allowed a very short time in which to prepare a
defence. If we had not heard of it by chance a day or two before the
notice came, we should have had absolutely nothing to offer.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Professor Loder, looking sharply at
McGee. “That seems unfair.”
“We didn’t find it out until late,” said McGee, reddening, “and then we
had to call a meeting.”
“We wrote to Ralston immediately,” continued Melvin, “and have received
this certificate from the manager of the athletic sports referred to in
the poster. If there had been more time, we should probably have more
letters to present.”
He handed the scrawl to the chairman, who gave it a glance and passed it
to Dr. Brayton. The latter smiled over it and handed it to his neighbor.
So it developed smiles as it went the round until all were smiling
except Dick, whose face was purple with confusion, but bitterly stern.
“I’d like to see this put in as evidence in a court of law,” chuckled
Mr. Harkins. “It bears neither date nor attestation, concerns one
Dickson, not Dickinson, and gives no hint as to Michael’s authority.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if Michael could explain himself if he were here,”
said Dr. Brayton, thoughtfully.
“You certainly wouldn’t give weight to an indefinite unauthenticated
certificate like that!” protested Mr. Harkins.
“Yes, if I were convinced that it represented a genuine attempt to give
the information we ask,” replied Dr. Brayton. “I don’t know whether to
take this seriously or not.”
“What evidence should you consider sufficient to disprove the charge?”
asked Mr. Pope, turning to Mr. Harkins. Dick gave the teacher a grateful
look; it was the question he wanted to ask.
“Why—er—” Mr. Harkins was momentarily at a loss; his interest was all on
the negative side. “Why, any trustworthy record of the day’s events
which showed that Dickinson did not take part.”
“There probably was no official report,” Dick ventured to say.
“Well, any definite statement by reliable people who were in a position
to know,” said Professor Loder.
“A newspaper report of the day’s events, perhaps?” suggested Dick,
trying to control his eagerness.
“Yes, if it were definite,” assented the professor.
“Well, here is a paper published in Ralston on the sixth of July, and
while it describes the games and names the contestants, it makes no
mention of Dickinson.”
Dr. Brayton took the paper and examined the passage carefully, then
turned it over to Professor Loder and Mr. Harkins, who put their heads
together over it. At length the lawyer looked up with a gracious smile,
and said in his smoothest judicial tones:—
“I am sorry, Mr. Melvin, but this is by no means conclusive. Certain
names of contestants are given, with their places at the finish, but
there is nothing here to prove that Dickinson did not start and fall so
far behind as not to finish. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I should
hardly feel justified myself in accepting this negative evidence as
confuting the plain statement of the poster.”
“Then the report of the proceedings would prove nothing after all,” said
Dick, bitterly. “Professor Loder has just said that the newspaper report
would be sufficient.”
“It would,” replied Mr. Harkins, with forbearance, “if it had contained
the plain statement that Dickinson did not run.”
“Is that your idea, too?” asked Dick, turning to Professor Loder. The
boy’s heart was fluttering, his hands and knees shook under the table,
but his voice was steady, and for this he felt unspeakably grateful.
“Certainly,” said Professor Loder, with some sharpness in his voice. “We
do not demand the impossible. If the newspaper had stated that Dickinson
did not run, there would be nothing more to say.”
“Then there _is_ nothing more to say,” declared Dick, leaping to his
feet in his eagerness to relieve the nervous tension which had been
growing more and more acute as the discussion went on. “Here is the
_Ralston Chronicle_, which makes that very statement.”
Mr. Harkins seized the paper and studied the black-lined passage with
evident chagrin. He was still studying, not wholly hopeless of a flaw,
when Professor Loder, after looking over the lawyer’s shoulder at the
paragraph, said: “Yes, that seems to settle it; the protest must be
withdrawn. I am sorry, however, that you could not have been more frank
with us.”
Dick flushed deep red. “I hope, sir, you don’t think I’ve taken an
underhand course. I only meant to make sure that the newspaper statement
would be accepted as sufficient evidence. You see, sir, I am positive
that Dickinson is innocent, because I know him and trust him, but I
couldn’t tell how the evidence would appeal to others.”
“And so you committed us first and then put in the evidence,” said Dr.
Brayton. “The fact is, Professor Loder, that the great danger in these
discussions lies, not in any difference in ideals, but in the vagueness
of our notions as to what constitutes proof of guilt or innocence. I am
inclined to think Mr. Melvin’s method has tended to bring us sooner to
an agreement.”
Professor Loder made no reply. The _Chronicle_ passed slowly around the
table. Mr. Harkins conceived some new plan, and returned to the
discussion.
“To tell the truth, I don’t like this kind of evidence,” he began,
solemnly.
Professor Loder gave him a look of disapproval. “I don’t see how you can
honestly object to it. It is of the same kind as that of the poster, but
much more definite and authoritative.”
The words brought a glint of gratitude and respect into the Seaton
manager’s eyes. It was apparent that there were fair and honest men in
the Hillbury Faculty as well as at Seaton.
“Is this the only case cited under the charge?” asked Mr. Harkins,
turning with impatience to McGee.
“The only one I know of,” answered the lad. Mr. Harkins relapsed into
ill-humored silence.
“Am I then to assume that we have reached a definite conclusion?” asked
the chairman.
“I move that the committee report itself satisfied as to the
groundlessness of the charges, and that the Hillbury manager be given
leave to withdraw the protest,” said Professor Loder, promptly.
The motion was put and unanimously carried. The meeting broke up. Mr.
Harkins alleged important business, offered a general farewell, and
hurriedly departed. Dick lingered to thank Professor Loder and Dr.
Brayton for their courtesy and fairness, arranged with McGee a few
details concerning the games, and then hastened to the telegraph office
to send the joyful news ahead.
He was received by the boys that night as a victorious diplomat
returning from an international Congress. The only circumstance to mar
his complete happiness was the reluctance of the school to believe that
Varrell, and Varrell alone, deserved the credit for securing the
evidence and for the successful presentation of it.
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