_A Treacherous Blow_
Two days before the game with Golden University the blow fell. Larry
Kirkland, playing the best ball he ever had played and inspired with
confidence and the hope of winning his C, was at the athletic field
early, busily engaged in catching with Katsura.
“You want to be ready, Katty,” he cautioned. “Arksall is likely to
weaken at any time and if he does you are our only hope. I believe
Haxton knows it. He has been studying you every day. He asked Torney
about you and the big fellow said you had him all puzzled, because it
looked as if the batters would kill every ball you pitched, and they
couldn’t hit it at all.”
“I’ll be ready,” smiled Katsura. “I have studied the Golden batters.
Last year I watched them and when they played St. Mary’s this year I sat
in the stands. I saw many things that I would have done very
differently.”
“Kirkland!”
The call came from a group of older men gathered near the front of the
stands, who for some time had appeared to be in earnest conversation.
“Coming,” called Larry cheerfully as he trotted along the front of the
stands to the lower boxes and leaped the barrier at a bound. He had
recognized Professor Terbush, the representative of the faculty, and
Clark, the student representative. They were with Haxton and Paw
Lattiser, and several seniors, and seemed to be excited over something.
“Mr. Kirkland,” said Professor Terbush quickly. “This is rather serious
and I hope you will answer our questions honestly and frankly. I warn
you any attempt at deceit will be discovered.”
“Oh, I say, Professor,” drawled Lattiser, “that sounds as if you had
found Kirkland guilty already.”
“I admit the circumstances look bad for him,” said the professor,
frowning at the challenge. “I still hope the young man may be able to
prove that he is innocent.”
“Innocent of what?” gasped Larry, too taken aback to understand fully
what was meant. “What am I charged with?”
“We have here,” said Professor Terbush, waving a letter in one hand, “a
letter from the athletic committee of Golden University protesting
against you as a member of the Cascade team.” The professor frowned
heavily, his voice pregnant with accusation.
“On what grounds?” stormed Larry hotly. “Why shouldn’t I play on
Cascade?”
“The charge is professionalism,” replied the instructor. “We have
investigated and we are commencing to fear that the charge made against
you is based upon facts.”
“Professionalism?” Larry first was puzzled, then flamed with anger. “How
can I be a professional? I don’t understand.”
“The letter charges that you once played on a professional baseball
team. Is that true?”
[Illustration: “How Can I Be a Professional?”]
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Certainly I am sure. I never was with any such team.”
“Weren’t you once with the Giants, at Portland?”
“No—y-e-s, I was for one day.”
“Ah,” said Professor Terbush, turning to the others with an “I told you
so” air, “I thought as much.”
“Hold on a moment, Mr. Terbush,” said Lattiser. “This isn’t any of my
cross-examination, but it seems the witness needs a lawyer. Tell us the
circumstances, Kirkland.”
Larry, who had been confused and guilty-looking under the accusing looks
and tone of the faculty member, flashed a grateful smile at Lattiser, as
he suddenly recalled having told the veteran of his experience with the
Giants.
“It was when I was nearly fifteen years old,” he said. “I met them—or
one of them—on a train coming West. They took me out to the ball park
with them and I sat on the bench with them during the game and that
night I came on home. I never have seen the team since.”
“That hardly makes a professional of him, Professor,” laughed Lattiser.
“Ahem—I suppose not,” agreed Professor Terbush, “providing the young
man is able to sustain his statements with proof. However, that is but
part of the indictment against him.”
He paused, cleared his throat and waved the accusing letter
impressively. “It also is charged that he has employed a professional
from that team to coach him.”
“That is false,” cried Larry, who seeing that he had the sympathy of one
or two of the committee and the active support of Lattiser was
commencing to recover from the confusion into which the unexpected
attack had thrown him.
“Young man,” said Professor Terbush severely, “I have no doubt that the
Golden University committee has good grounds for presenting these
charges. It is unbecoming in you to accuse them of lack of verity.”
“Oh, I say, Professor,” drawled Lattiser, “there’s a chance they are
mistaken, isn’t there? Give Kirkland a chance.”
“Do you mean to insinuate that I am dealing unfairly?” demanded the
professor, outraged.
“Not at all, not at all,” agreed Lattiser. “I merely wanted him to have
his constitutional rights—which he seems entitled to even in a
college.”
“I shall be only too glad if the young man is able to disprove charges,
which, if sustained, would bring lasting disgrace upon the fair name of
our school,” said Professor Terbush, entirely overlooking the hidden
sarcasm of Lattiser’s concluding sentence.
“I can explain,” said Larry. “Mr. Krag was my friend. When he retired
from baseball he was employed by my guardian as foreman on the ranch. He
never has been paid to coach me—and, in fact, never has done much
coaching excepting to tell me where I was wrong and to offer advice.”
“You admit he has coached you?”
“I suppose it amounts to that. He has tried to help me learn the game.”
“The final charge is even more serious,” said Professor Terbush,
adjusting his glasses and looking at the letter as if reading. “It
charges that your guardian, Mr. James Lawrence, maintains a paid ball
club on the ranch, that you are its captain, and that, for winning a
certain game, to wit, a game against a team representing Pearton, Mr.
James Lawrence paid you the sum of $1,000, and agreed that, if you
succeeded in winning a place on the Cascade team he would give you a
like present in addition to paying the expenses of your education.”
“It’s a lie!” cried Larry, goaded by the injustice of the accusations as
well as by the tone of the faculty representative.
“Young man—young man,” cried Professor Terbush in an outraged tone, “do
not further prejudice the committee against yourself by such violent
language toward your superiors.”
“By the way, Professor,” said Lattiser calmly, “you speak of his
superiors. Who are they? Who signs that letter? Who makes these
accusations?”
“The letter is from the athletic board of Golden University. The charges
have been made to them and they have requested that we investigate and,
if we find the charges true, to bar Kirkland from participating in
athletic events, which, of course, it is our duty to do.”
“Yes, but who makes the charges?” persisted Lattiser. “It seems to me it
is one man’s word against another—and we ought to know who the other
is.”
“We are not interested in the person making the charges,” replied
Professor Terbush. “What interests us is whether or not they are true.”
“I know who makes the charges,” Larry exploded angrily. “It is no one
connected with Golden University—it is a person in this college.”
“Be careful what you say, Kirkland,” said Haxton quickly. “That’s a
pretty serious charge.”
“I know it,” said Larry. “But there are some things in that letter only
one person knows”——
“That is beside the question,” decided Professor Terbush quickly. “We
must ascertain the truth or falsity of the charges. Are you able to
prove your assertions.”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Lattiser. “It seems to me that in law a man
is innocent until proved guilty, and that the burden of the proof is on
the accuser.”
“Not in this case,” said Professor Terbush severely. “Our honor and the
honor of the school is at stake. We must not evade our duty on
technicalities.”
“I can prove it,” declared Larry quickly. “Major Lawrence can disprove
every charge made against me.”
“Very good, very good,” said Professor Terbush. “I recall Major
Lawrence. It seems to me he once made this institution a munificent
donation. A worthy man—we will write him.”
“But,” protested Larry in dismay, “if you write him I cannot play in the
game. He is not at home; he has gone East—and perhaps will be traveling
for a month or more.”
“That is unfortunate,” said the professor seriously. “I sincerely wish
he were here to disprove the accusations. Under the circumstance there
seems nothing to do but submit to the suggestion of the committee. We
cannot afford to take chances of placing a lasting blight upon our honor
as a college.”
“Seems to me,” said Lattiser dryly, “you can afford to place a lasting
blight upon Kirkland’s honor and integrity without much effort.”
“Mr. Lattiser,” protested the faculty member, “your construction of our
motives is almost insulting. We but do our duty.
“Gentlemen,” he continued, turning to the other members of the athletic
committee who had remained silent, “what is your judgment?”
“I think we ought to give Kirkland a square deal,” said James, who
represented the under classmen. “He hasn’t been proved guilty. What do
you think, Mr. Haxton?”
“Well,” said Haxton, “I’ve thought all along he played a little too well
and knew too much to be an amateur.”
“You believe him guilty?”
“I don’t know anything about it—it looks funny.”
“I think we should suspend Mr. Kirkland from playing,” announced
Professor Terbush, “and suspend judgment in his case until he is ready
to produce his alleged proof.”
“Then I don’t play against Golden?” asked Larry beseechingly.
“We cannot afford to risk the honor of our noble institution,” replied
Professor Terbush. “We hope you will be able to prove your innocence,
and present the proof you say you can get.”
Larry, almost stunned by the judgment, walked unsteadily out of the
stand and down onto the playing field. Katsura, who had been watching
from afar, ran to meet him.
“What’s the matter, Larry?” inquired the little brown boy anxiously.
“They’ve thrown me off the team, Katty,” he wailed. “They won’t let me
play with Golden.”
“Baldwin?” asked Katsura, stiffening quickly.
“It must have been. No one else could or would have done it,” said
Larry, walking unsteadily toward the club rooms.