SID KEEPS SILENT
Tom and Phil wished they could have been a witness to the scene which
took place a little later in the study of Dr. Churchill. Not from mere
motives of curiosity, but that they might, if possible, aid their chum.
That he was in serious straits they well knew, for the rules of Randall
(as indeed is the case at all colleges) were most stringent on the
subject of liquor.
Poor Sid, led like a prisoner by the proctor, walked moodily up to the
faculty residence, while Tom and Phil, with sorrow in their hearts,
went to their room. Their grief was too deep and genuine to admit of
discussion.
"You wished to see me?" inquired Dr. Churchill, coming out of his study
into his reception room, as Sid and the proctor stood up to greet him,
having previously sent in word by the servant. "Ha, what is it now?" and
the venerable head of Randall looked over the tops of his spectacles at
the two; the official, stern and unyielding, and the student with a
puzzled, worried air, sorrowful yet not at all guilty. Dr. Churchill
held a book and his finger was between the pages, as if he hoped soon to
be able to go back and resume his reading at the place he had left off.
"I regret to announce that I have a most flagrant violation of the rules
to report to you, Dr. Churchill," began Mr. Zane.
"Another of my boys out late," remarked the doctor, a half smile playing
around his lips. "Well, of course that can't be allowed, but I suppose
he has some good excuse. He went to see about a challenge for a ball
game, or it was so hot in his room that he couldn't study," and the
president smiled, then, as he caught sight of a little blaze of logs in
the fireplace of his reception room (for the evening was rather chilly),
he realized that his latter explanation about a hot room would scarcely
hold. And, be it said, Dr. Churchill was always looking for some excuse
for indiscreet students, to the chagrin of the officious proctor.
"Doubtless a baseball matter took him out," went on the president. "Of
course we can't allow that. Discipline is discipline, but if you will
write out for me a couple of hundred lines of Virgil--by the way, you
play at shortstop, don't you?" and the doctor looked quizzically at Sid.
The president had rather less knowledge of baseball than the average
lady. "How is the eleven coming on, Mr. Henderson?"
The doctor tried to appear interested, but, for the life of him he never
could remember whether baseball was played with nine, ten or a dozen
men, albeit he attended all the championship games, and shouted with the
rest when the team won. He wanted to appear interested now, however, and
he was anxious to get back to his reading.
"I regret to inform you," went on the proctor (which was not true, for
Sid well knew that Mr. Zane took a fiendish delight in what he was about
to say), "I regret to state that I caught Mr. Henderson coming in after
hours to-night; and I would not think so much of that, were it not for
the condition in which I caught him," and the proctor assumed a saintly
air.
"I don't quite understand," remarked the doctor, laying down his book,
but taking care to mark a certain passage. Sid was idly aware that it
was a volume of Sanskrit, the doctor being an authority on that ancient
language of the Hindoos.
"I regret to say that Mr. Henderson is intoxicated!" blurted out the
proctor.
"I am not, sir!" retorted the second baseman, it being his first remark
since entering the room. "I have never touched a drop of intoxicating
liquor in my life, sir!"
There was a ring in his voice, and, as he stood up and faced his accuser
there was that in his manner which would indicate to any unprejudiced
person that he was perfectly sober.
"Intoxicated!" exclaimed the doctor, for he had a nameless horror of
anything like that. "Don't make such a charge, Mr. Zane, unless you are
positive----"
"I am positive, Dr. Churchill."
"I have never touched a drop of liquor," insisted Sid.
Dr. Churchill, with a stern look on his rugged face, advanced and took
hold of Sid by the arms, not severely, not even tightly, but with a
gentle, friendly pressure. He looked into the troubled eyes of the
lad--troubled but not ashamed--worried, perhaps, but not abashed. The
doctor bent closer.
"I am no authority on intoxicants," went on the president grimly, "but I
should say you were mistaken, Mr. Zane."
"Will Mr. Henderson deny that I took a pint bottle of liquor from him
not ten minutes ago?" asked Mr. Zane, as he produced the incriminating
evidence.
Sid's face turned red under its tan--it had been rather pale before--but
he did not answer. Dr. Churchill looked grave.
"Is this true?" he asked.
"I did have the bottle in my pocket," admitted Sid. "But it was not for
myself. I took it----"
The president raised a restraining hand.
"Wait," he said. "I will send for Dr. Marshall. This is serious." He
sighed as he looked at his book. To-night he felt, more than ever, what
it meant, to be the head of an institution where several hundred young
men--healthy, vitalized animals--were held in leash only by slender
cords. Dr. Churchill summoned a messenger, and sent him for the college
physician.
"Mr. Henderson is no more intoxicated than I am, and I never take a
drop, nor give it," declared the physician. "I guess you're mistaken,
Mr. Zane."
"Is this liquor?" demanded the proctor, extending the bottle.
Dr. Marshall looked at the bottle through the light, poured out some of
the contents into his palm, and smelled of the liquid.
"It seems to be whisky," he said doubtfully, "but I should have to make
an analysis to be perfectly sure."
"You need not go to that trouble," said Sid quickly. "I have every
reason to believe that it _is_ whisky."
"And what were you doing with it?" demanded Dr. Churchill sternly.
"That is a question which I must decline to answer," and Sid drew
himself up haughtily.
The venerable president drew back, almost as if he had received a blow.
He looked at Sid keenly.
"Very well," he remarked quietly, and there was a note of sadness in
his voice. "I shall have to inflict severe punishment. The rules call
for suspension or expulsion, but, in view of your previous excellent
record, I will make an exception. You will be debarred from all further
participation in athletics for the remainder of the term--unless," and
the doctor paused, "you can make some explanation that will prove your
innocence," and he looked almost as a father might at an erring son.
"I--I can't make any explanation," answered Sid brokenly, as he turned
away, while the doctor, with a shake of his head, took up his Sanskrit
book, and went back to his study.