[Illustration: FORWARD HE HURLED HIMSELF, STRAIGHT THROUGH THE AIR.]
FOR THE HONOR OF
RANDALL
A Story of College Athletics
BY
LESTER CHADWICK
AUTHOR OF “THE RIVAL PITCHERS,” “A QUARTER-BACK’S
PLUCK,” “BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
=BOOKS BY LESTER CHADWICK=
=THE COLLEGE SPORTS SERIES=
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
THE RIVAL PITCHERS
A Story of College Baseball
A QUARTER-BACK’S PLUCK
A Story of College Football
BATTING TO WIN
A Story of College Baseball
THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN
A Story of College Football
FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL
A Story of College Athletics
=THE BASEBALL JOE SERIES=
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS
Or The Rivals of Riverside
BASEBALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE
Or Pitching for the Blue Banner
(Other volumes in preparation)
_Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York_
Copyright, 1912, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A PERILOUS RIDE 1
II BAD NEWS FROM HOME 15
III WHEN SPRING COMES 27
IV THE NEW FELLOW 34
V IN “PITCHFORK’S” PLACE 42
VI THE NEW LEAGUE 51
VII THROUGH THE ICE 66
VIII TOM KEEPS SILENT 76
IX IN THE ICE BOAT 84
X A MISSING PICTURE 94
XI THE WAY OF A MAID 102
XII IN BITTER SPIRITS 112
XIII TOM SEES SOMETHING 118
XIV SHAMBLER’S VISITOR 128
XV TOM IS SUSPICIOUS 135
XVI FRANK’S SURPRISE 144
XVII THE AUCTION 153
XVIII TOM’S TEMPTATION 160
XIX THE TRY-OUTS 168
XX “WE NEED EVERY POINT” 176
XXI ON THE RIVER 183
XXII CURIOSITY 192
XXIII THE BIG HURDLE RACE 202
XXIV THE ACCUSATION 213
XXV A DISPUTED POINT 221
XXVI FRANK WITHDRAWS 229
XXVII “WHAT’S TO BE DONE?” 236
XXVIII A BOTTLE OF MEDICINE 245
XXIX AN ALARM IN THE NIGHT 255
XXX JUST A CHANCE 261
XXXI AT THE GAMES 272
XXXII AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 280
XXXIII TOM’S RUN 289
XXXIV SID’S GREAT JUMP 300
XXXV RANDALL’S HONOR CLEARED 306
FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL
CHAPTER I
A PERILOUS RIDE
“What a glorious night!”
Tom Parsons, standing at the window of the study which he shared with
his chums, looked across the campus of Randall College.
“It’s just perfect,” he went on.
There was no answer from the three lads who, in various attitudes, took
their ease, making more or less of pretenses at studying.
“The moon,” Tom went on, “the moon is full----”
“So are you--of words,” blurted out Sid Henderson, as he leafed his
trigonometry.
“It’s one of the finest nights----”
“Since nights were invented,” broke in Phil Clinton, with a yawn. “Dry
up, Tom, and let us bone, will you?”
Unmoved by the scorn of his chums, the tall lad at the casement, gazing
out on the scene, which, to do him justice, had wonderfully moved him,
continued to stand there. Then, in a quiet voice, as though unconscious
of the presence of the others, he spoke:
“The moon o’er yonder hilltop rises, a silver disk, like unto a warrior’s
shield, whereon he, from raging battle coming, is either carried upon it,
or bears it proudly as----”
“Oh for cats’ sake!” fairly yelled Frank Simpson, the Big Californian,
as he had been dubbed. He shied his book full at Tom Parsons, catching
him in the back, and bringing to a close the blank verse our hero was
spouting, with a grunt that greatly marred it.
“Say, you fellows can’t appreciate anything decent!” shot back the lad at
the window. “If I try to raise you above the level of the kindergarten
class you are in deep water. I suppose I should have said: ‘Oh see the
moon. Does the moon see me? The moon sees me. What a pretty moon!’ Bah!
You make me tired. Here we have the most glorious night of the winter,
with a full moon, snow on the ground to make it as light as day, a calm,
perfect night----”
“Oh perfect night!” mocked Sid.
“Vandal!” hissed Tom.
“Go on! Hear Hear! Bravo!” cried Phil. “Let the noble Senator proceed!”
“Oh, for the love of mustard!” broke in the big lad who had tossed his
book at Tom. “There’s no use trying to do any work with this mob. I’m
going over to see Dutch Housenlager. He won’t spout blank verse when I
want to bone, and that’s some comfort.”
“No, but he’ll want to get you into some horse-play, like tying knots in
Proc. Zane’s socks, or running the flag up at half mast on the chapel,”
declared Tom. “You had much better stay here, Frank. I’ve got something
to propose.”
“There! I knew it!” cried Phil. “There’s a girl in it somewhere, or Tom
would never be so poetical. Who is she, Tom? and when are you going to
propose?”
“Oh, you fellows are worse than the measles,” groaned the lad who had
been looking at the moonlight. “I’m done with you. I leave you to your
fate.”
With a grunt of annoyance Tom turned away from the window, kicked under
the sofa the book which Frank had thrown at him, and reached for his cap
and coat.
“Where you going?” asked Phil quickly, as he turned over in the deep
armchair, causing the ancient piece of furniture to emit many a groan,
and send out a choking cloud of dust. “Whither away, fair sir?”
“Anywhere, to get away from you fellows,” grunted the displeased one.
“No, but seriously, where are you going?” asked Frank. “Now that you’ve
broken the ice, I don’t mind admitting that I don’t care such an awful
lot for boning.”
Tom paused in the doorway, one arm in and the other out of his coat.
“I’m going out,” he answered. “It’s too nice to stay in. The coasting
must be great on Ridge Hill, and with this moon--say it’s a shame to
stay in! That’s what I’ve been trying to ding into you fellows, only you
wouldn’t listen. Why, half of Randall must be out there to-night.”
“What about Proc. Zane?” asked Sid, referring to the proctor, who kept
watch and ward over the college.
“Nothing doing,” answered Tom. “A lot of the fellows went to Moses after
the last lecture and got permission to take their bobs over on the hill.
There were so many that the good old doctor said he’d raise the rules
for to-night, because it was likely to be such a fine one. So there’s no
danger of being up on the carpet, if we get in at any decent hour.”
“Why didn’t you say so at first?” demanded Sid. “Of course we’ll go. Why
didn’t you mention it instead----”
“I thought you had some poetry in you,” responded Tom. “I tried to make
you appreciate the beauty of the night rather than appeal to the sordid
side of your natures, and----”
“Cut it out!” begged Phil, with a laugh. “If there’s any coasting, and I
guess there is, we’ll be in it. Come on, fellows, and we’ll see how our
bob does on the hill.”
With laughter and gay talk, now that they had made up their minds to
adopt Tom’s suggestion, and go coasting, the four chums, than whom there
was no more devoted quartette in Randall, passed out into the corridor.
As they descended the stairs they heard a subdued hum that told of other
students bent on the same errand, and, when they had a glimpse of the
snow-covered campus, they beheld many dark figures hurrying along,
dragging single sleds or big bobs after them.
“Say, I hope no one pinches ours!” cried Tom, and at the thought he
hastened his pace toward an out-building of the gymnasium, where the
students kept their bicycles in Summer, and their bobs in Winter.
It was now Winter at Randall, a glorious Winter, following a glorious
football season. For several years it had been the custom for the
students to indulge in coasting on a big hill about a mile away from the
college. Some of the lads clubbed together and had built fine, big bobs,
with foot rests, carpet on the top, with immense gongs to sound warning,
and with steering wheels that equalled those of autos, while some had
drag brakes, to use in case of emergency.
The bob owned jointly by Tom Parsons, Sid Henderson, Phil Clinton and
Frank Simpson, was one of the best in Randall. It was fifteen feet long,
and could carry quite a party. It needed no small skill and strength to
steer it, too, when fully loaded.
Our friends, getting out their sled, soon found themselves in the midst
of a throng of fellow students, all hurrying toward the hill. The four
chums had hold of the rope to haul the big bob.
“There are the Jersey twins,” remarked Sid, as Jerry and Joe Jackson
hurried on, dragging a small bob.
“And here comes Dutch,” added Phil. “He can ride with us, I guess.”
“Sure,” assented Tom. “I say, Dutch!” he called. “Got a sled?”
“No. Why should I when there are already plenty?” “Dutch,” or otherwise
Billy Housenlager, demanded.
“That’s right,” spoke Frank. “Come on, give us a hand, and we’ll give
you a ride.”
“I am too tired,” was the answer, “but I will let you have the honor of
pulling me,” and, with a sigh of contentment Dutch threw himself down on
the big bob.
“Here! Get off, you horse!” cried Sid.
A loud snore was the answer. Sid started back to roll the lazy student
off, but Tom, with a wink, indicated a better way of disposing of him.
At a signal the four students broke into a run.
“Ah, this beats an auto,” murmured Billy.
Suddenly the four swerved sharply, and the bob turned over, spilling
Dutch off, into a snow bank.
“Ten thousand double-dyed maledictions upon you!” he spluttered, as he
blew the snow out of his mouth. “Just for that I’ll not ride with you.
Hold on, Jerry--Joe,” he called to the Jersey twins, “wait for papa!”
There was a laugh at Dutch and his predicament, and then the crowd of
students hurried on, our heroes among them. In a little while they could
hear distant shouts, and the clanging of bells.
“Some crowd on the hill,” observed Tom. “I told you there’d be sport.”
“Right you are, my hearty,” agreed Phil. “Whew! I should say there was a
mob!” for by this time they had come out on top of the long slope that
led down the country road, forming the coasting place, known as Ridge
Hill.
While most of the crowd consisted of students from Randall College,
there were not a few lads and girls from the neighboring town of
Haddonfield, and the shrill voices of the lassies and the hoarser shouts
of the boys, mingled musically that moonlit night. The clang of bells
on the bobs was constant.
“Come on now, get ready!” called Tom. “Let’s take a crowd down.”
“Who’s going to steer?” asked Phil.
“Let Frank,” advised Sid. “He’s got the most muscle, and he needs
exercise.”
“I like your nerve,” retorted the Big Californian. But he took his place
at the steering wheel, while Tom got on the rear to work the brake, and
Sid acted as bell-ringer.
“Get aboard!” invited Tom, and several of his friends among the students
piled on.
“May we have a ride?” asked three pretty girls from the town. None of
our friends knew them, but it was a common custom to give all a ride for
whom there was room, introductions being dispensed with.
“Pile on!” invited Tom.
“I want the one with the red scarf!” sang out Frank, and this girl, with
a laugh that showed her even white teeth, took her place behind the
steersman. Her companions joined her, with happy laughs. The bob was
almost full.
“Room for any more?” asked a voice, and Tom looked up to see a young man
and lady looking at him.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Beach!” he exclaimed, as he recognized a friend of his
who lived in town. “Of course there is. Get on Mrs. Beach, and we’ll
give you a fine ride!” The young married couple had often entertained
our four friends at their home, and, as Mr. and Mrs. Beach were fond of
fun, they had come out to enjoy the coasting.
“All right!” cried Sid, clanging the bell.
“Push us off; will you?” Tom requested of a merry coaster, and the lad
with some others obligingly shoved the bob to the edge of the hill. Then
they were off, going down like the wind, while the runners scraped the
frozen snow sending it aloft in a shower of crystals that the moon
turned into silver.
“Oh, this is glorious!” cried the girl back of Frank. “Say, did you ever
try to go through the hollow, and up the other hill?”
“No, and I’m not going to,” replied Frank, turning his head toward her
for an instant, and then getting his eyes on the road again, for there
were many sleds and bobs, and it needed all his skill to wind in and out
among them.
“Why not?” persisted the girl, with a laugh.
“Too dangerous, with a big sled. We never could make the curve at this
speed.”
“Some of the town boys do it,” she went on.
“Not with a bob like this. Look out there!” Frank yelled as he narrowly
missed running into a solitary coaster.
The path to which the girl referred was a sort of lane, running off the
main hill road, dipping down, and then suddenly shooting up again,
crossing over a slight rise, and finally going down to a small pond. It
was a semi-public road, but seldom used. To attempt to negotiate it with
a swift bob was perilous, for the least mistake in steering, or a slight
accident would send the sled off to one side or the other of the small
hill, making an upset almost certain, and, likely broken bones, if
nothing worse.
“There goes one boy, now,” went on the girl back of Frank, as a coaster
shot into the hollow.
“Yes, but he only has a small sled. I’ll not try it. If you girls want
to----”
“Oh, no indeed!” she hastened to assure him. “This is too much fun. It’s
good of you to ask us.”
The coast soon came to an end, and then came the hard work of dragging
the sled up the hill again.
“I wish they had double acting hills,” remarked Tom as he pulled on the
rope. “Slide down ’em one way, and, when you get to the bottom they’d
tip up, and you could slide back--sort of perpetual motion.”
“You don’t want much,” commented Sid with a laugh.
As the boys reached the top of the slope there dashed up a sled filled
with young people, drawn by two prancing horses. And fastened to the
rear of the sled, was a large bob.
“Now for some fun!” cried a girl’s voice.
“Did you hear that?” asked Tom, of Phil. “It sounded like your sister
Ruth.”
“It is Ruth!” cried Phil, as he caught sight of the girl who had called
out. “It’s a crowd from Fairview,” he added, naming a co-educational
institution not far from Randall, at which college Ruth Clinton attended.
“Hi, Ruth!” called her brother, “how are you?”
“Oh, Phil,” she answered. “So glad to see you! Are the other inseparables
there?”
“All of us!” cried Tom, as he glimpsed Madge Tyler. “Come have a ride on
our bob.”
“Next time,” answered Mabel Harrison with a laugh. “We have a prior
invitation now.”
“Who are with you?” asked Phil of his sister as he reached her side.
“Whose bob is that?” and he pointed to the one back of the sled.
“Hal Burton’s. He’s a new student, rather rich, and sporty I guess. He
made up this little party. Oh, it’s all right,” she hastened to add,
as she saw her brother look at her curiously. “We have permission, a
chaperone and all the fixings. Trust the ogress, Miss Philock, for that.
Isn’t it a glorious night?”
“Fine,” agreed Phil. “But who is this Burton chap?”
“Come on, and I’ll introduce you,” and Ruth presented her brother. Among
the other girls was a Miss Helen Newton, whom Tom and his chums had not
before met. She was also made acquainted with the inseparables.
“And so you won’t ride with us?” asked Tom, looking rather regretfully
at Miss Tyler.
“Not this time, old man,” broke in Burton, with a familiar air that Tom
did not like. “I’m going to pilot ’em.”
“Do you know the hill?” asked Phil quietly. Somehow he did not like this
new student, with his calm air of assurance, and he did not like Ruth to
ride with him.
“Oh, I’ve coasted bigger hills than this,” declared the owner of the big
bob. “This isn’t anything, even if it is a new one. Get on girls and
fellows!” he cried. “We’ll beat everything on the hill.”
“Insolent puppy!” murmured Tom, as he helped swing their own bob around
for another coast.
The sled owned by Burton was a fine one, and larger even than that of
our friends. There were back-rests for each coaster, and a gong as big
as a dinner plate.
“See you later, Phil,” called Ruth, as she and her girl friends,
together with a throng of others, got aboard.
The big bob was pushed off, Tom and his chums watching with critical
eyes. Burton seemed to know his business.
“Well, we might as well go down,” remarked Frank, as he took his place.
There was a moment’s wait, while their bob filled, the same three pretty
girls taking their places. Then they were off, Sid ringing the bell
vigorously.
Hardly had they started, however, almost in the wake of Burton’s sled,
than Frank gave a cry of alarm.
“What is it?” shouted Tom, getting ready to jam on the brake. “Steering
wheel busted?”
“No, but look!” cried Frank. “That chump Burton is headed right for the
hollow cut-off! He’ll never make it at that speed, and there’ll be a
spill!”
For a moment there was a silence, broken only by the scraping of the
runners on the hard snow. Then Frank yelled:
“Keep to the right! Keep to the right, Burton! You can’t make that
turn!”
But Burton either did not hear or did not heed. Straight for the
perilous cut-off he steered, and then, as the girls saw their danger,
they cried shrilly. But it was too late to turn aside now, and Tom and
his chums, coming on like the wind behind the new bob, wondered what
would happen, and if there was any way of preventing the accident that
seemed almost sure to take place.