RANDALL’S HONOR CLEARED
“Come on boys! One last song!” begged Bean Perkins of his well-nigh
exhausted lads. “One last song to celebrate the victory!”
They gave it with a will, followed by cheer after cheer,--for the team,
for the college, for the colors, for their rivals, for the
girls--anything and everything was cheered.
Exter, Boxer Hall and Fairview nobly did their share, too. They paid
full tribute to their successful rivals.
“And we win! We win! We win!” cried Kindlings, as he capered about the
group of tired but happy athletes.
“As if there ever was a doubt,” said Holly Cross.
“Oh, you get out!” protested Kindlings. “It was all in the air until the
last minute. Tom and Sid pulled us out of the fire.”
The field was being overrun with spectators, who sought to congratulate
victors, or commiserate with the losers. Randall’s colors were seen on
every side, for, as is always the case in college games, the winning
hues always appear mysteriously at the end of the contest.
“Come on, the girls are waiting for us,” said Phil, who had changed into
his ordinary garments. “They want to congratulate you, Sid.”
“Then they’ll have to wait,” was the seeming ungracious answer. “I’m all
dust, and I’m going to have a shower first. I’ll be with you in five
minutes.”
He raced away to the dressing rooms, and Tom, Phil and Frank, who were
“presentable” now, went to talk to Madge and her chums.
“Well, how about it?” asked Tom, as he approached them.
“We haven’t a word to say,” replied Miss Tyler. “You won fairly and
squarely, and--well----”
“You helped,” said Tom boldly. “You waved our colors at the right time.”
“Yes, just as if she belonged to Randall, instead of Fairview,” said
Miss Harrison.
“She does, I guess,” said Ruth, with a glance at Tom.
There was laughter, talking, quips and jibes, but over all there was the
spirit of gaiety.
“Your mother wired her congratulations,” said Mr. Parsons, making his
way to Tom. “I’m going back home again now.”
“No, you’re not, dad,” insisted the winner of the mile run. “You’re
going to stay here to-night.”
“You’ll have the time of your life,” added Sid. “Better stay.”
“Well, I guess I will,” agreed Mr. Parsons. “I begin to feel like a boy
again.”
Tom and his chums said farewell to their girl friends, promising to call
on them later. Then, while still the cheers of Bean Perkins and his lads
were ringing over the field, faint but full of spirit, the winning team
started for Randall. Mr. Parsons went with them.
And such a night as it was that followed.
Proctor Zane threw up his hands early in the evening, and retired to his
quarters. Dr. Churchill said it was the best thing to do under the
circumstances. For the spirit of fun, of jollity, and of victory was
abroad in the land, and Randall celebrated as she had never celebrated
before.
Mr. Parsons was an honored guest, and he proved himself to be imbued
with the immortal spirit of youth, for he was like a lad again, capering
about.
Bonfires were built, spreads innumerable were held, professors were
serenaded, and forced to make congratulatory speeches. Even
“Pitchfork,” had to come out to speak to the team, though he did not
show very good grace. But dear old Dr. Churchill struck the right note,
and was roundly cheered as he gracefully spoke of the victory of the
“track eleven and the baseball racers.”
But he meant well.
And so that night at Randall passed into honored and never-to-be-forgotten
history.
They were in their room--the four inseparables. It was a few days after
the great games, and the trophies indicating the championship of Randall
had been placed in an honored place in the gymnasium. Also the tale of
the victory had gone abroad to the world.
Tom’s father had returned home, to tell the details, the law case was a
closed event. Now came talk--talk of what had been.
“It was great--couldn’t have been better,” declared Frank Simpson.
“There is only one regret.”
“What’s that?” asked Phil.
“About that charge against me. I don’t say anything about Shambler, for
he admitted his guilt. But I know I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We’ll forget Shambler,” suggested Tom. “I guess he’s vanished.”
“But I would like to have a ruling on my case,” went on Frank. “I think
it sort of stands as a black mark against Randall. I don’t see why that
A. A. U. committee doesn’t answer.”
There was a moment of silence. No one seemed to know what to say. The
alarm clock ticked off the seconds. Tom was sprawled out on the sofa,
with Phil crowding him. In the armchairs were Frank and Sid. There came
a knock on the door.
“Who’s there?” demanded Tom.
“A telegram for Mr. Simpson,” announced Wallops.
The Big Californian leaped for the portal, and swung it open. In an
instant he had snatched the yellow envelope, and torn it open. Rapidly
he scanned the message:
“Wow! Hurray!” he shouted.
“What is it?” demanded Tom.
“It’s good news! This is a telegram from the protest committee of the A.
A. U. It says: ‘Your case, and others like it, ruled on some time ago.
Settled you were strictly amateurs. Letter follows. You are eligible in
all amateur contests.’ What do you think of that?” cried Frank, capering
about. “I knew I was right.”
“And so did we!” cried Phil.
The letter settled any last doubts. It came a few days later, and stated
that soon after the charity games, in which Frank, and others, took
part, that the question of professionalism, on account of the money
prizes, had come up, and had been settled in favor of the amateurs. No
hint, even, of professionalism tainted them, it was said.
A copy of the ruling was at once sent to Exter and the other colleges in
the Tonoka League, and Wallace replied at once, expressing his regret at
having raised the point, and congratulating Frank.
“But it’s all for the best,” declared Frank.
“Yes,” agreed Tom, “for now there’s nothing against the honor of
Randall, since Shambler has left.”
“And now there won’t be any question of your playing baseball, football
or rowing on the boat crew--if we have one,” said Phil.
“Are we going to have a boat crew?” inquired Tom.
“There’s talk of it,” was the answer.
And what Randall’s crew did may be learned by reading the next book of
this series, to be entitled “The Eight-Oared Victors; A Story of College
Water Sports.” In that we will meet all our old friends once more.
It was several days later. The celebrations of Randall’s track and field
victory were about over, and the diamond was beginning to take on an
unusually active appearance.
One evening, in the room of the inseparables, the four chums sat in
silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock, or the creak of the
old sofa, or easy chair.
Frank walked over to the table, and began writing.
“It’s to a girl,” said Phil, in a low voice as he heard the scratching
of his friend’s pen.
“What of it?” snapped the big Californian. “I guess you would write too
if you wanted to.”
“Guess I will,” decided Phil, and soon four pens were scratching.
“Well, for cats’ sake, what’s this?” demanded Dutch Housenlager, a
little later, as he came into the room. “Is it a new literary club that
I’ve stacked up against?”
“Something like it,” remarked Tom, as he began on his fourth page.
“Hey, what rhymes with dove?” asked Sid dreamily.
“Love, you old moon-calf!” grunted Dutch, as he backed out. “Say, when
you fellows get over being spoony, come out and have some fun,” he added
closing the door. And the scratching of the four pens went on.
THE END
THE BASEBALL JOE SERIES
By LESTER CHADWICK
_12mo. Illustrated. Price 50 cents per volume._
_Postage 10 cents additional._
[Illustration]
1. BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS
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2. BASEBALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE
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_or The Record that was Worth While_
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_or Putting the Home Town on the Map_
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_or Triumphs Off and On the Diamond_
_Send for Our Free Illustrated Catalogue._
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SEA STORIES FOR BOYS
BY JOHN GABRIEL ROWE
_Large 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Colored jacket._
_=Price per volume, $1.00 Net.=_
[Illustration]
_Every boy who knows the lure of exploring and who loves to rig up huts
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_Lively stories of outdoor sports and adventure every boy will want to
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Jack organizes a gun club and with his chums goes in quest of big game.
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_or The Outing of the Schoolboy Yachtsmen_
Jack receives a box from his father and it is stolen. How he regains it
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By HECTOR MALOT
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Transcriber’s Notes:
--Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in
bold by "equal" signs (=bold=).
--Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
--Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
End of Project Gutenberg's For the Honor of Randall, by Lester Chadwick