A SERIOUS CHARGE
"Well, what do you know about that?" exclaimed Phil, turning to his
sister and Miss Tyler. "If that isn't the limit!"
"Hush!" begged Ruth. "Poor Mabel! She isn't herself."
"I wasn't saying anything against Sid," went on Phil. "I only said it
was too bad something seemed to have gotten hold of him lately. Then she
flies up----"
"How dare you speak about Mabel flying up?" interrupted Ruth, stamping
her little foot, and shaking her finger at her brother. "She's nervous
and upset, that's all. You'd better go to her, Madge. Perhaps she has a
headache."
Miss Tyler, with a sympathetic look at Phil, glided from the apartment.
"What do you s'pose ailed Miss Harrison?" asked Phil.
"I don't know," replied Ruth. "Of course it was rather unexpected when
she and Mr. Henderson became such friends. Then came that item in the
paper, and his refusal to explain, and then meeting that horrid fellow
at the picnic, and then--but I never expected her to break a lance for
him in this fashion. I guess she cares more than she shows," and with
this philosophical reflection Ruth bade her brother good night, as Miss
Philock was marching aggressively up and down the corridor like a
sentinel, for the hour of retiring was approaching.
"Now don't say a word about this to Sid," cautioned Ruth.
"Of course not," growled Phil.
"Nor Tom Parsons, either."
Phil grunted, but that night he told Tom everything, and the scene
further added, in the mind of the pitcher, to the mystery that was
enveloping Sid.
"Maybe the worst of it's over," suggested Tom, as they were discussing
the matter. "Sid hasn't been out late nights for two weeks now, and he's
studying hard. He's playing the game, too. We'll beat Fairview the next
time we tackle 'em, and wipe up Boxer Hall, likewise."
But alas for Tom's hopes. Two nights later, as the three chums were
studying in their room, Wallops brought a note for Sid, who showed much
perturbation, and hastily went out, saying nothing to his chums.
"There he goes again," remarked Tom helplessly, as the door closed on
Sid.
"Um," grunted Phil. He had nothing to say.
Phil and Tom, who were taking up some advanced work in mathematics,
spent two evenings a week "boning" with Mellville, a senior, and this
was one of the occasions when they went to his room. They had permission
to be up beyond the usual hour, and it was rather late when they
returned to their own apartment. Mellville had his rooms in a new
fraternity house, not far from Booker Memorial Chapel, and to get to
their own room, which was in the west dormitory, Phil and Tom had
to cross the campus, and go in the rear of the "prof house," as the
building was called where Dr. Churchill and the faculty had their living
quarters. As the two chums were walking along, they became aware of a
figure coming up the campus from another direction--from where the main
entrance gates of the college loomed up dimly in the darkness.
"Some one's coming in late," murmured Phil.
"Likely to get caught," added Tom. "I saw Proc. Zane sneaking around a
few minutes ago."
"By Jove, that walks like Sid!" whispered Phil, a moment later. "It is
Sid," he added.
"Yes, and there goes Zane after him!" groaned Tom. "He's caught, sure,
unless we can warn him. Poor old Sid!"
"Too late," remarked Phil, as he saw the figure of the proctor break
into a run. Sid also darted off, but soon he saw he had no chance to
escape, and he stood still.
"Ah, Mr. Henderson, good evening," greeted the proctor sarcastically.
"Out rather late, aren't you?"
"I'm--I'm afraid so, sir," answered Sid hesitatingly; his two chums,
from their position in the dark shadows of the faculty house being able
to hear everything.
"No doubt about it," went on the proctor gleefully. He had kept vigil
for many nights of late, and his prey had escaped him. Now he had a
quarry. "Have you permission to be out after hours?" demanded the
official.
"No, sir."
"I thought not. Report to Dr. Churchill directly after chapel," and the
proctor, by the light of a small pocket electric lamp he carried, began
to enter Sid's name in his book. As he did so Tom and Phil could see the
watch-dog of the college gate gaze sharply at their chum. Then Mr. Zane,
putting out his hand, caught hold of Sid's coat.
"Are they going to fight?" asked Tom in a hoarse whisper. "Sid must be
crazy!"
A moment later came the proctor's voice.
"Ha, Mr. Henderson, I thought I smelled liquor on you! I am not
deceived. What have you in that pocket?"
"Noth--nothing, sir," stammered Sid.
There was a momentary struggle, and the proctor pulled something from
an inner pocket of Sid's coat. By the gleam of the electric lamp, Tom
and Phil could see that it was a bottle--a flask of the kind usually
employed to carry intoxicants--broad and flat, to fit in the pocket.
"Ha! Mr. Henderson, this is serious!" exclaimed the proctor. "Trying to
smuggle liquor into the college! Come with me to my room at once. This
must be investigated. I will find out who are guilty with you, in this
most serious breach of the rules. A bottle of liquor! Shameful! Come
with me, sir! Dr. Churchill shall hear of this instantly!" and he took
hold of Sid's arm, as if he feared the student would escape.
"What do you think of that?" gasped Tom, as the full meaning of what he
had seen came home to him.
"I give up," answered Phil hopelessly. "Poor, old Sid!"