A DISPUTED POINT
For a few moments after the dramatic withdrawal of Shambler, following
his practical confession of guilt, no one spoke, and no one seemed to
know what to do. Then Wallace, who acted well his part under the trying
circumstances, again arose.
“I can’t tell you fellows of Randall how we hated to do this,” he said.
“But we felt it to be our duty--our duty toward ourselves as well as
toward you and the other colleges.”
“Yes, I--I guess it had to be done,” admitted Holly, sorrowfully.
“I suppose there is no doubt about it--the charge of professionalism,”
suggested Dan Woodhouse gently.
“None whatever, I’m sorry to say,” went on Wallace. “The first
intimation I had was when Jack Pendleton and Hal Durkin, two of our
players, spoke to me about it, after they saw Shambler, the other day.
He goes by that name now, but he played as a professional under the
name of Jacobs.”
“As soon as Durkin and Pendleton told me their suspicions I began to
make inquiries,” went on Wallace, “and I soon found that they were
right. Here is a picture of the professional nine with which Shambler
played,” and he held up a sporting paper, with a black ink mark around
the left-fielder. The boys crowded up to look at it, and recognized
Shambler at once.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Tom, “that’s the same paper that we saw Shambler
have in the reading room one day--the paper that he tore a picture from!
It was his own likeness, and he was afraid we’d recognize him.”
Several recalled that incident.
“I guess there’s nothing else to be said,” admitted Holly with a sigh.
“I suppose I needn’t assure you Exter fellows that we knew nothing of
this,” he added quickly. “We never would have admitted Shambler to the
contests if we had dreamed of such a charge hanging over him.”
“We know that,” Wallace assured him quietly. “It’s too bad, but there’s
no harm done. Do we understand that you withdraw Shambler’s name?”
“Sure!” exclaimed Kindlings. “It’s too bad, for he is a fine athlete.
I’m glad, now, he wasn’t in the hurdle race.”
“I guess he got in the wrong kind of company,” went on Wallace. “I
understand he has been seen several times of late with a fellow named
Nelson. He, too, is a professional, but he has been barred from even his
own class because of cheating. He helped Shambler train.”
“Nelson,” mused Tom. “That must be the fellow I saw with Shambler, and
the one I heard him talking to.” It developed later that this was so.
Wallace laid before the committee several other items of proof of the
charge he had made. They tended to show that Shambler had been one of
the best amateur all-round athletes in the West. But he began going with
a “sporty” set, and, needing more money than his folks could supply him,
he accepted the invitation of a professional ball team to play for
them one Summer. He managed to conceal the fact and returned to his
college as an amateur until chance betrayed him. Then, having found in
professional athletics a comparatively easy way to make money, he
continued along that line, coming to Randall under false colors.
It was believed that he intended doing as he had often done before,
secretly placing bets through Nelson, and so clearing a tidy sum.
Wallace showed Shambler’s professional record in several events, and in
every case the time, or distance, made was much better than the record
of Shambler at Randall.
Wallace hesitated a moment, and then said:
“This case is not half as serious as the other, and we would not bring
it up except that we feel that you would not want to enter a contestant
against whom there was the least hint of professionalism. Am I right?”
“Exactly,” declared Holly grimly. “Out with it, I guess we can take our
medicine. I hope it isn’t myself.”
Probably not a lad present was prepared for what followed.
“It is a sad duty, but one I feel I have to do,” went on the Exter
manager, “when I say that Frank Simpson is also under the ban of
professionalism.”
“Frank Simpson!” gasped a score of voices.
“The big Californian!” added others.
“What’s that?” cried Tom, as if he had not heard aright.
“It isn’t possible!” fairly yelled Phil Clinton, as he leaped to his
feet and held out his hand to Frank, who sat beside him. “I’ll stake
anything on Frank.”
“So will I!” cried Tom and Sid. Wallace remained calmly looking at the
lad against whom he had brought the ugly charge.
“Frank, answer him!” implored Tom pleadingly.
For a moment Frank had been so plainly stunned and surprised by the
accusation that he did not know what to do. Then he slowly got up.
“I wish to say, most emphatically,” he began in a calm voice, “that Mr.
Wallace is mistaken. He has either confused me with someone else, or his
information is at fault. I am not a professional, I never have been one,
I never intend to become one. I never took part in any professional
games, and I never received any money for playing ball, or in any other
contest. I can’t make that too strong!”
“Hurray!”
“That’s the way to talk!”
“Now we’re coming back at ’em!”
Amid a babble of cries these were heard. There were angry looks cast at
the Exter committee, and one or two lads started from their seats, and
worked their way forward, as though to be in the fore when hostilities
commenced.
Wallace stood there, calm and collected. He looked at Frank, who
returned the gaze undismayed and unflinchingly.
“Do you insist, after Mr. Simpson’s denial, that you are right?” asked
Holly, when there was silence.
“I am sorry--but--I do,” was the quiet answer.
There was a storm of hisses, but Holly stopped them with a wave of his
hand.
“And when I say that, I do not in the least mean to reflect on Mr.
Simpson’s word,” said Wallace courteously. “I think he forgets, that is
all, and I will proceed to give the facts. It is no pleasure to do
this,” he went on, “but duty very seldom is pleasant.”
“Go ahead, old man, don’t mind me,” said Frank with a smile. “My
conscience is clear. I think you’re mistaken--that’s all.”
“I wish I was,” replied the Exter lad. “But I have information that you
took part, as a professional, in some games held on the Fourth of July,
three years ago, in a park outside of San Francisco, California. In
particular you took part in a running race, and you were paid the sum of
fifty dollars. The affair was for some hospital or other charity, and
there were a number of other semi-professionals who took part in it. Do
you deny that?”
For a moment several thought that Frank Simpson would collapse, so
surprised was he. Then he braced himself by a strong effort, and tried
to speak. For a second or two no words would come, and then, in a husky
voice he said:
“Part of that is true, and part is not. I did take part in those games,
but it was strictly as an amateur. I can prove that. I have never been a
professional.”
“Isn’t it true that you won the mile run?” asked Wallace.
“Yes, I did.”
“And wasn’t the first prize for that contest fifty dollars in gold?”
“It was, but----”
“Didn’t you win, and get the prize?”
“I won, but I did not get the money!” fairly shouted Frank. “I never
had a cent of it. I did win the race. The prize was fifty dollars,
but I never got it. I turned it over, without even taking it into my
possession, to the charitable committee. If that’s professionalism, make
the most of it!”
He sat down, and every lad in the room was on his feet in an instant.
“Of course that’s not professionalism!”
“Never heard of such a thing!”
“That’s a silly charge!”
“The A. A. U. rules don’t make that professionalism!”
“Not by a long shot!”
Everyone seemed to be shouting something, and Holly managed to hear the
above expressions, amid the babble of others.
“Silence! Silence!” he cried.
“That’s our case,” Wallace managed to say.
Once more came hisses, that were not so easy to silence.
“We claim that is professionalism, and we won’t compete if Frank
Simpson represents Randall,” said Pendleton, who stood beside Wallace.
“It seems like splitting hairs,” spoke Kindlings, “but----”
“Perhaps it does,” admitted Wallace calmly. “But we claim that Simpson
is a professional under the rules. It’s up to you fellows, but----”
“Mr. Chairman, I move that the athletic committee of Randall go into
executive session at once, consider this matter, and let Exter have our
answer as soon as possible,” shouted Tom above the din.
“Second the motion!” cried Sid.
It was put and carried at once.
“Will you make yourselves comfortable until after our session?” asked
Holly of the Exter committee. “I’ll have you taken to our chapter
house,” and he called some lads, who were not members of the committee,
to act as the hosts of the visitors.