THE MISSING DEED
Bad news, they say, travels fast, and certainly it must have made a
record trip throughout the length and breadth of Randall that afternoon.
Tom and the others had scarcely changed from their football togs into
ordinary clothes before half a score of their fellows demanded to know
if they had heard the rumors that were flying around.
"We sure have," replied Tom. "How much truth is there in them, Jerry
Jackson?"
"I don't know," replied the Jersey twin.
"We only heard as much as you did," echoed his brother.
"Prexy will make an announcement at chapel to-morrow morning, if there's
anything in it," declared Dutch Housenlager.
"Then I wish it was chapel time now," murmured Phil. "I don't like this
suspense."
"Me either," declared Sid.
"Well, there's one consolation," put in Frank Simpson. "If it's got
anything to do with the law there's no present danger that the college
will be torn down--not before the football season is over, anyhow."
"Why not?" demanded Tom.
"Because the law is so slow. If it's a question of title to land it can
go through several courts before it's definitely decided. I know because
my father's a lawyer, and he's had several cases of disputed titles."
"Well, there's something in that," declared Phil. "But I don't like to
think of old Randall being in any kind of danger. It makes me uneasy."
The talk became general, and there were many speculations as to what the
trouble really was, and what the outcome would be. The conversation
continued after our friends had gone to their room, whither flocked a
number of their chums to discuss the situation. For the time being
football was forgotten, and the trouble of Randall held the centre of
the stage.
"Well, there's no use worrying about a bridge, until you hear the rustle
of its wings," said Sid at length.
"What we fellows need to do is to get out and make a noise like having
some fun," opined Dutch Housenlager. "When the cat's gone on her
vacation, the mice eat bread and cheese, you know. Proc. Zane is
closeted with the bunch of highbrows, and so what's the matter with
cutting up some?"
"Dutch, I'm surprised at you!" exclaimed Tom, reproachfully.
"Why? What's the matter?" asked the fun-loving youth, innocently.
"Wanting to skylark at a time like this, just because the authorities
are in _statuo quo_," went on Tom. "Not on your life, Dutch! It's fun
enough to play some tricks when you're taking chances on getting caught.
Now it would be like taking pie from a baby in arms."
"I guess you're right," admitted Dutch Housenlager, contritely. "We'll
defer the operation," he went on, in solemn tones. "I think the patient
will survive until morning."
Seldom had there been such an attendance at service as greeted Dr.
Churchill when he stood on the platform in the Booker Memorial Chapel
the next morning. The early sun glinted in through the stained glass
windows, and seemed to pervade the room with a mystic light that added
to the solemnity of the occasion.
The Scriptural selection was from one of the Psalms of David--one of
those beautiful prose poems which are such a comfort in times of
trouble. And as the vibrant tones of the venerable president's voice
rose and fell, when he feelingly spoke the words, it seemed to the boys,
careless and happy-go-lucky as they might be ordinarily, that a new
dignity and depth of appreciation was theirs.
After the prayer, which was in keeping with the Bible reading, Dr.
Churchill arose, and came slowly to the edge of the platform. He stood
for a moment, silently contemplating the throng of earnest young faces
raised to his, and then he spoke.
"Men of Randall," he began, solemnly, "we are facing a crisis in the
history of our college. Men of Randall, it behooves us to meet it
bravely, and with our faces to the enemy. Men of Randall, we may be at
the parting of the ways, and so, being men together, I speak to you as
men."
The good doctor paused, and a sound, as of a great sigh, passed through
the assemblage. Usually when the doctor had any announcement to make, he
addressed the students as "young gentlemen." They felt the change in the
appellation more than any amount of talk would have impressed them.
"Doubtless you have heard rumors of the crisis in our affairs," went on
the president, after taking off his glasses, slowly wiping them, and
replacing the frames back of his ears, over which the white locks fell.
"Whatever you have heard I beg of you to disregard to this extent, that
you do not repeat it. In evil times words increase trouble. I will tell
you the truth as nearly as I and the gentlemen associated with me can
come at it.
"Randall College, as you know, was built many years ago. The land was
purchased from a fund left by a gentleman who had the good of the youth
of this land at heart. Other endowments enabled buildings to be put up.
In all these years no hint of trouble has come to us, but now we are
confronting a fact, not a theory, as your political science teaches you.
"The land whereon Randall and the various buildings stand, yes, where
there is laid out the fields for the pursuit of baseball and football,
and I think I am right in assuming this to be the football season?"
The president paused, and glanced questioningly at the proctor, whom he
evidently took for an authority on sports. For Dr. Churchill, while an
enthusiastic supporter of every team in the college, knew rather less
about the various terms, and times of games than the average baby. The
proctor nodded in acquiescence.
"Even the very football field is under suspicion," continued the
president, and there was another great sigh, mainly from that section of
the chapel where sat Tom and his chums. "In fact the entire ground on
which the college is built has been claimed by outsiders.
"The facts, in brief, are these: When the land was purchased there were
several persons who had interests therein. From them releases, in the
form of quit-claim deeds, were obtained, and then it was thought that
the corporation of Randall had a clear title. Now it develops that a
certain Simon Hess was one of the persons who gave a quit-claim deed,
after being paid for his share in the land.
"That deed, I regret to say, can not be found, and in the absence of it,
it is as if it never existed. Simon Hess is dead, but he left several
heirs, and they are now making a claim against the college. Perhaps
they might not be so eager, were it not for certain lawyers who are
apparently urging them on.
"An attempt was made to settle with them when they made their claim
known, but the lawyers insisted that their clients prosecute their
suits, and so the hope of compromise was abandoned. It seems that they
want the life's blood of our college, and, as you know, we are not a
wealthy institution.
"Yesterday I received from Mr. Franklin Langridge, the lawyer who
represents the claimants, a demand for a large cash settlement if their
claim was abandoned. I need hardly say that Randall is in no position to
pay a large amount in cash. I called a meeting of the faculty, and we
came to that conclusion. I have so notified Mr. Langridge."
At the first mention of that name there had been an uneasy movement
among the students. At its repetition, when it was whispered around that
this was the father of Fred Langridge, the former bully of the college,
the movement became more pronounced.
"Mr. Langridge," went on the president, when he was suddenly interrupted
by a series of hisses. Dr. Churchill started. Mr. Zane hurriedly
whispered to him, explaining that it was only the name of Langridge that
thus met with disapprobation. The venerable president raised his hand
for silence.
"Men of Randall," he said, solemnly, "that was unworthy of you."
The hissing stopped instantly.
"And so our college is in danger," continued the good doctor, after a
pause, "but we must face it bravely. We will not give way to it. We will
meet it like men! We will fight the good fight. We will----"
"Three cheers for Randall College and Dr. Churchill!" yelled
Bean Perkins, leaping to his feet and forgetting that he was in
chapel--forgetting that it was a solemn occasion--forgetting everything
save that he was wrought up to the point of frenzy. "Three cheers, and
the biggest tiger that ever wore stripes, fellows!"
Oh, what a shout there was! Every student was on his feet in an instant,
yelling at the top of his voice. Even some of the faculty joined in, and
Dr. Emerson Tines was observed to be wildly waving his hands. How the
cheers rang out! And then the tiger!
Dr. Churchill blew his nose violently, and wiped his glasses several
times, for there was a mist of tears on them. He tried to speak--to go
on--but he was too affected.
Slowly he turned, and walked back to his seat amid the faculty. And then
Bean Perkins did what forever covered him with glory, wherever, in after
years, the stories of Randall College were told.
Jumping up on one of the pews, he raised his hand for silence. Then, in
a voice that was singularly sweet and clear, he started that school
song: "_Aut Vincere, Aut Mori!_"
Welled out the strains from hundreds of throats--the song of songs--the
song that was always sung in times of victory, or when the teams on
diamond or gridiron seemed to be putting up a losing fight--the song
that had snatched many a victory from defeat.
Forth it rolled, deep-voiced and solemn, sung in the original Latin,
in which it had been composed years ago by a gifted graduate: "_Aut
Vincere, Aut Mori!_"--"Either We Conquer, or We Die!"
It was the rallying cry to the battle that confronted the college.