UNEXPECTED NEWS
Ray’s rooms were the handsomest in college, and fully repaid in beauty
and comfort the painstaking care with which he had fitted them up.
Ray’s father was a well to do merchant in Albany, and, knowing his
son’s good sense and steady habits, had never hesitated to supply him
liberally with money. Ray was thus able to fully gratify his love of
comfortable and tasteful surroundings, and had furnished his apartments
in a most attractive manner.
The floors, which were hard wood, were oiled, and covered with rare and
expensive rugs, the windows were framed by portières of rich and heavy
tapestry, while the walls were hung with handsome pictures, and the
many little articles of bric à brac and mementos of college life dear
to every student’s heart.
His rooms were a source of great pride to Ray, and a pleasurable treat
to all of his college mates who were in the habit of frequenting them.
They had become very familiar to me and were associated with some of
the most agreeable recollections of my college life, for Ray Wendell,
although a member of the class ahead of me, was one of the oldest and
best friends I had in Belmont. Our acquaintance had been formed upon
the baseball field in my Freshman year, at the time when I was first
chosen member of the nine, and this acquaintance had ripened into a
genuine and lasting friendship, which only grew firmer as time went
by, and which was strengthened on my part by a warm and enthusiastic
appreciation of Ray’s many superior qualities of head and heart. This
feeling I shared with all who knew Ray Wendell well, and especially
with Tony Larcom, who would have followed him through fire, if
necessary.
As we entered his large front room and seated ourselves, Ray took up a
telegram, which lay upon his desk, and handed it to Tony.
“There, what do you think of that?” he asked.
Tony read aloud:
The baseball convention will take place at the Wyman Hotel,
Berkeley, at 10:30 A.M. to-morrow.
W. H. SLADE.
There was silence for a moment as Tony looked up in astonishment. Then
his mouth opened.
“Gee whizz!” he exclaimed solemnly.
“No wonder you are surprised,” remarked Ray. “You may imagine what I
thought when I first opened it.”
“Why, that is the most extraordinary and unexpected summons I ever
heard of,” I exclaimed. “Is that the first notification you have had?”
“I knew nothing of the date of the meeting till I received this
telegram. It was fortunate that I telegraphed Slade early this morning,
for we might have missed the whole convention.”
“What a stupid, blundering oversight!” cried Tony. “Just imagine a
convention without any representatives from Belmont!”
“Well,” responded Ray, “it would have been more serious for _us_ than
the convention, for the other three colleges would have constituted a
quorum, and they could have voted away our rights without our knowing
anything about it. I fancy the Park College men would have been glad
enough of a chance like that to secure an advantage over us.”
“It was a contemptible trick, I believe,” burst out Tony, tossing the
telegram upon the desk.
I was inclined to be more reasonable.
“I can’t see the trick,” I said. “Slade is known to be a very careful
fellow. Had he been a Park College man, I might have suspected him of
underhand work, but the Halford men have always been friends.”
“I don’t know what to think of it,” remarked Ray thoughtfully, “but
you may be sure I will sift the matter to the bottom, and if there
has been any crooked work we’ll make things hum at that convention.
If it was merely negligence on Slade’s part, it is too important to
be overlooked. He would deserve an early dismissal from his office
for such carelessness. Were we to miss the meeting, the damage to our
interests might be very great――but come, we can talk about that on
the train. Our business now is to get ready as fast as possible. You,
Harry,” he continued, turning to me, “said you needed only a few hours’
warning, and it turns out that is about all you’ll get. Can you be
ready for the 7:15 train?”
“Easily,” I responded. “I have only to pack a small valise, and get my
dinner.”
“And how about you?” to Tony.
“I’ll be at the station without fail,” was the reply.
“All right, then. Don’t forget to draw the necessary money for
expenses.”
“Why, I can’t do that. You know, the bank closes at three o’clock,”
answered Tony.
“To be sure, I had forgotten that,” said Ray. “Well, then we will
have to stand our own expenses, and charge it up to the baseball
association. Remember to report your absence to Mr. Dikes. I have
already done so, and you had better go at once, for the college offices
close at six.”
I went immediately to the college offices, which were on the first
floor of Burke Hall, at the left hand side of the main entrance, and
just opposite the large Latin room in which our meeting had been held
the night before.
Mr. Dikes was the registrar of the college, and, according to the
rules, students were obliged to report to him before leaving town, in
order that he might keep a record of their whereabouts. Mr. Dikes was a
meek little man, but his office invested him with considerable dignity
and importance. His very name smacked of annual reports on behavior
and grade, or summons before the faculty and other formal notifications
that carried fear and consternation to the guilty student’s heart. But,
although his duties rendered him an object of profound respect and even
awe, we liked Mr. Dikes none the less, for he was always kind, gentle,
and considerate, and never failed to put in a good word for a student
in trouble.
He was bending over a large ledger in which an account of absentees was
kept, when I entered the office.
“I am going away, Mr. Dikes,” I said.
“Why, vacation will soon be here,” he answered, looking up with a smile.
“Oh, I mean merely for a day. I am going on the 7:15 train, and will
return tomorrow evening.”
“Where do you go?” asked Mr. Dikes, getting down from his high stool.
“To Berkeley.”
He smiled again.
“You are going to the convention, I suppose. Mr. Wendell reported this
afternoon.”
“Yes, sir,” I responded, “and you will get a report from Tony Larcom,
too, in a short time. He goes with us.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Dikes, making a memorandum. “Make sure we are
given fair play at the convention.”
After a few more words, I hurried to my room and packed my valise.
Then I went to my eating club, which was situated some distance from
the main street. Tony Larcom, who was a member of the same club, was
there before me; and, as I entered, I found him wrestling with an
exceptionally refractory duck.
“If you expect to get the meat off that bird you’ll never catch the
7:15 train,” said I, after watching his efforts for a few moments.
“I don’t care for the meat; I’m doing this for exercise,” he answered
sarcastically. “Harry, just think what a baseballist that duck would
have made, with its web feet to catch the balls, and all that muscle to
throw with――――”
“Oh, stop your nonsense, and hurry up with your dinner,” I answered.
“We have only twenty minutes to spare.”
Tony accordingly set to work in real earnest, and we soon finished our
meal, and were on our way to the station.
Ray was already there when we arrived, and had purchased tickets for
the party. He was conversing earnestly with Edwards, who had come down
to see us off, and the latter was listening with surprise to Ray’s
story about the telegram.
“I wish I could go over with you,” said Edwards. “I would like to see
the fun. Give me all the facts when you come back, and if there has
been any trickery or negligence on the part of the officers of the
League, I will run off two or three columns in the next issue of the
_Chronicle_ that will make their hair curl up in knots.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the train, and
so, bidding Edwards a hasty good by, and assuring him that a full
report of the proceedings would be made to him on our return, we
boarded the cars, and soon left Belmont station far behind us.
Berkeley was situated ten miles from Belmont, and on the banks of
the same stream that flowed into our lake, so that travel could be
effected between the two towns either by water or by rail, although the
latter was a far shorter route, for the small river Mahr wound in and
out amongst the picturesque hills of Berkshire, almost doubling the
distance to Berkeley.
The trip by rail took scarcely more than twenty-five or thirty minutes,
and this time was employed by us in anticipating the business of the
next day’s meeting.
As this was my first experience of the kind, I was in no position
to express positive opinions, but was content to listen to the
conversation of my two companions, and to obtain from them all the
information I could concerning the various questions that would come up
for consideration in the convention.
The time passed quickly, therefore, and almost before we were aware
of it, the train slackened speed, the door of the car opened, and the
conductor shouted,
“Berkeley! All out for Berkeley!”
It was about ten minutes past eight when we reached the Wyman House,
which stood in the center of the town and some distance from Park
College, the latter being situated nearly a quarter of a mile from the
town limits of Berkeley.
As Ray registered our names, some one touched him on the shoulder. He
turned and found himself face to face with Slade. The latter held out
his hand.
“How do you do, Mr. Wendell? I’m glad to see you. I suppose you got my
telegram all right.”
“Yes, Mr. Slade,” answered Ray coldly, “I got your telegram; otherwise
we might have missed the convention altogether. Is it your custom to
delay notifying the delegates from the various colleges until they
telegraph and ask you when the meetings are to take place?”
“‘Custom,’ Mr. Wendell?” exclaimed Slade in amazement. “What do you
mean? I have been secretary of the League for two years, and you know
my custom well enough.”
“I know what your custom should be in notifying us,” said Ray.
“And always has been,” added Slade with an accent of annoyance. “Mr.
Wendell, suppose we stop this hinting. What is the meaning of your
tone?”
“Why did you neglect to notify me of the date of this meeting?” asked
Ray.
“I did notify you,” was the instant response.
“Yes, by telegram to-day, after I had asked for the information, but
why did you fail to send me the customary formal notification that
should precede the meeting by a week at least?”
Slade looked Ray steadily in the face for several seconds, as if trying
to determine whether he was in earnest.
“Mr. Wendell,” said he firmly, “there is evidently some misunderstanding.
_I sent you the regular notification ten days ago._”
Ray’s face changed.
“Mr. Slade, are you sure of that?” he asked.
“Why do you doubt it?” was the answer. “Have I ever failed before? I
tell you again, notifications were sent to all the college delegates
ten days ago, and you among them. I was puzzled at receiving your
telegram of inquiry this morning, but supposed that you had lost the
notification and forgotten the date. Do you mean to say you never
received my letter?”
“Never,” answered Ray. “And are you sure you did not overlook me?”
“Perfectly. See, here is the proof,” and Slade opened the valise which
he carried in his left hand, and, taking out his letter book, hastily
turned over the pages. “I took the precaution of having those letters
copied, and mailed them myself.”
He pointed to the copy of a letter addressed to Ray, dated ten days
before. It contained the usual notification of the meeting, and ended
with
Unless we hear from you to the contrary the committee will
consider this date as convenient to you.
Yours truly,
ERNEST FITCH, Park Coll.,
_Prest. of the League_.
W. H. SLADE, Halford Coll.,
_Sec. of the League_.
Ray read the letter through carefully. He then said,
“Mr. Slade, I owe you an apology. I was too hasty. I hope you will
pardon me.”
“Certainly,” answered Slade, with a smile. “You can see that the fault
is not mine, and there must have been some hitch at your end of the
line.”
“Yes, I did you injustice,” answered Ray.
We spent the evening in the reading room and about the lobby and piazza
of the hotel, greeting the various delegates that had arrived from
Park, Halford, and Dean Colleges, the three institutions which, with
Belmont College, had made up the Berkshire League.