AN INTERCEPTED LETTER
Promptly at 10:30 o’clock the following morning the delegates assembled
in the back parlor of the hotel, which had been reserved for the
convention. The folding doors which connected it with the front parlor
were closed, and the meeting was called to order by Ernest Fitch, the
president of the League.
The officers of the Berkshire were chosen in the following manner: at
the close of each session a convention was held for the special purpose
of awarding the Crimson Banner to the victorious college, and to elect
officers for the succeeding year. The plan was therefore quite similar
to that adopted by the several colleges in choosing the officers for
their association. In the case of the League, the president was chosen
from the victorious college, and the secretary from the college that
held second place. Neither of these officers, however, was to be a
member of the nines of the respective colleges. According to this
custom, therefore, Park College had the presidency in the present
season, and Halford College the secretaryship.
The meeting was not very lengthy, since only the usual matters came up
for discussion, and they were disposed of quite readily, and without
much controversy. First we decided what kind of a ball we should use,
and in this we favored a well known firm in New York. A few unimportant
changes were made in the rules, two or three professional umpires were
selected, and finally the schedule of games was arranged. According to
this schedule Belmont College was listed to play championship games on
the second, third, and fourth Saturdays in May, and with her opponents
in the following order: first, Dean College; second, Park College; and
third, Halford College.
This completed the business of the meeting, which occupied about two
hours, so that when we adjourned it was approaching one o’clock, and
time to prepare for lunch.
During the meal Tony Larcom looked over his time table.
“We can easily catch the 2:30 train,” he said to Ray. “What do you say
to going back home?”
“By all means,” answered Ray. “I see no object in hanging around here
any longer.”
Accordingly we finished our lunch leisurely, and then repaired to the
piazza, where we sat down for a few moments, awaiting the time to start
for the station.
Suddenly Tony Larcom clapped Ray on the arm.
“Our valises!” he exclaimed.
Ray and he rose together and reëntered the hotel. As I was talking at
that moment with Slade, I did not accompany them, but called out,
“Bring down my valise, too, will you, Tony?”
Tony called back an assent, and I continued in conversation.
“You have quite a bruise on your head, Mr. Elder. Did you get hit with
a ball?” asked Slade, examining my forehead.
“No,” I answered; “I was kicked in the head by some one running over
me――at least, I think so, though it was late at night, and too dark for
me to be sure.”
As we continued to talk about the matter, Slade said in a low tone,
looking over my shoulder,
“Somebody is very much interested in you, I think.”
I turned sharply around, to encounter the full, steady stare of a young
fellow about my own age, who had been standing about three feet behind
me.
He lowered his eyes, and at once passed into the hotel.
I looked after him curiously.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” responded Slade. “I think he is a Park College fellow;
at least, he came into town this morning with quite a crowd of students
from the college. He was fairly devouring you with his eyes when I
spoke.”
“Well, I hope it will do him good, though I don’t see why he――――” Here
I was interrupted by Tony, who came out quickly and thrust my valise
into my hand.
“Come on,” he said. “We must hurry.”
As I turned to shake hands with Slade, I saw the fellow who had
attracted our attention standing in the doorway still gazing fixedly at
me, but the moment my eyes met his he turned and walked away.
“And now,” began Ray, when we were seated in the train, “we must make
up our nine without delay. It will be an embarrassment of riches and
no easy task to choose, I think, for we have some mighty fine players
on the class nines. Suppose you come to my room to-night just after
dinner, and we will make a start. Of course there are some men who
stand no chance, and would only be in the way, so the best plan, I
think, is to select from the class nines twenty of the likely men, and
invite them to compete for the ’Varsity. We can post this list on the
bulletin board Monday morning, and get down to practice without delay.”
This seemed an excellent idea, and so, when we arrived at Belmont, we
separated at the station with the understanding that we three were to
meet at Ray’s room early that evening.
Immediately after dinner I went to the post office to obtain any
letters that might have arrived during the day. Nothing but a newspaper
from home was in my box, so, on receiving this, I was about to walk
away when I heard a familiar voice, and, turning around, I saw Ray
Wendell in conversation with the postmaster.
As I came up and took hold of his arm, the postmaster was saying,
“I really don’t see how I can help you, Mr. Wendell. If your letter
arrived――and I have no doubt it did――it was properly looked after. We
make no mistakes. I do not, of course, remember every letter, but I
have quite a firm recollection of such a letter as you describe――in a
pink envelope――and it was given to Ridley to deliver.”
Ridley was the young colored boy who carried the mail for the occupants
of Warburton Hall.
“Well,” answered Ray, “then I’ll have to question Ridley.”
“That is the most likely quarter to find the mistake,” said the
postmaster. “Perhaps he delivered it to the wrong party, or dropped it.”
Ray turned away.
“Hullo, Harry,” said he to me. “You see, I am tracing up that letter.
I’d give anything to know where the blame lies.”
“Probably on Ridley, as the postmaster suggests,” I responded. “You
know he is nothing but a small boy, and liable to be careless at times.”
“Well, we will see. Come on over to my room,” and Ray linked his arm in
mine.
When we reached the entrance to Warburton Hall, Ray went to the head of
the stairs that led down into the cellar, and called into the darkness,
“Hullo, Ridley!”
After repeated calls, there was a sound in the regions below. First
came the hollow clang of an iron shovel, then the crash of a coal
scuttle, and the noise of scattering coal, accompanied by muttered
exclamations of a character that betokened disaster. Finally, out of
the cellar, and as black as the darkness he left behind him, came the
unlucky Ridley, his coat off, his woolen shirt torn, and rubbing his
shins where they had come to grief against the coal scuttle. He looked
like a veritable imp of the night as he stood there in the glare of the
single gas jet that lighted the hallway. Ray looked at him with mock
severity.
“Ridley!” he exclaimed.
The boy looked at Ray beseechingly, shifted uneasily from foot to
foot, and finally, unable to withstand Ray’s fixed gaze, he snuffled
violently.
“I ain’t dun nuffin,” he mumbled.
“That remains to be seen,” said Ray, with a half smile, as he took the
boy by the ear. “Now, Ridley, listen to me. Do you remember that very
rainy Wednesday of last week?”
“Yes, sah.”
“Do you remember getting the mail that morning?”
“Yes, sah.”
“Do you remember any letters for me that morning?”
“No, sah.”
“No letters for me?”
“Dere wan’t no letters for you that mawnin, sah.”
“Ridley!” exclaimed Ray, with real severity this time. “There _was_ a
letter for me in that mail. Now, what became of it?”
Ridley was growing more and more frightened, but no sign of guilt
appeared on his ebony countenance.
“I’s tellin’ no lies, Mistah Wendell. I swar to golly I’s tellin’ no
lies. Der wan’t no letter for you.”
“Are you sure you remember the mail?” asked Ray.
“Yes, sah, perfeckly.”
“Who had letters that morning?”
“Dere was only five or six letters. I didn’t look at ’em at de post
offiss, but when I kem up to de door right here, Mistah――le’s see, who
was it?――Mistah, Mistah, oh, Mistah Howard was standin’ by de doorway.”
“Howard was there, was he?”
“Yes, sah, an’ he sez, ‘Ridley, hev ye got de mail?’ an’ I sez, ‘Yes,
sah,’ an’ he sez, ‘Let me look at it,’ an’ I gived de letters ter
him――――”
“You gave the letters to Howard that morning? Ridley, are you sure?”
exclaimed Ray, letting go of the boy.
“Perfeckly. Mistah Howard took de letters, an’ he luks ’em over, an’ he
sez, ‘Dese two is mine,’ an’ he gives me back de rest.”
“He kept two, did he? Well, did you see those letters?”
“No, sah, I didn’t see de names. He gived me back t’ree or four, and
none of _dem_ was fer you. I s’posed Mistah Howard unly kep’ his own
letters.”
“And there were two of them?”
“Yes, sah, I knows dere was two; one was white an’ de udder pink.”
“What!” cried Ray. “You say one was _pink_?”
“Yes, sah. I remember dat letter well. I tuk notiss of it wen I got
it at de post office, and when Mistah Howard gived me back de udder
letters dat pink one was gone.”
Ray was silent for several minutes, his lips pressed firmly together.
At length he said quietly.
“All right, Ridley. Much obliged to you. That will do.” Ridley
disappeared down the cellar stairs, and Ray turned to me a long look of
astonishment.
“Well, what――do――you――think――of that?” he asked slowly. I shook my head.
“And so Howard took that letter!” I exclaimed.
“So it seems,” Ray answered, “and I must say it takes my breath away.
Whatever may have been said of Howard, I never thought him a petty
thief.”
“Hold on, Ray Wendell!” cried a voice just behind us.
We both started and turned about.
Not six feet away stood Len Howard.
We were somewhat taken aback by this sudden and unexpected appearance
of the very individual whose name was upon our lips. Silence reigned
for several seconds.
At the first sound of Howard’s voice, Ray, like myself, had been
startled. He quickly recovered himself, however, and looked Howard
quietly and firmly in the face. The latter’s expression was angry and
belligerent.
“Did I hear my name a few moments ago?” he asked.
“I have no doubt you did. Your name was mentioned,” Ray answered.
“And do I understand that you apply the name thief to me?”
“My words were quite plain, I think,” responded Ray.
“I think not. I think they need considerable explanation,” said Howard,
moving a little nearer.
“That depends upon how much of our conversation you have heard,”
answered Ray. “If you were here when I questioned Ridley a few moments
ago, I hardly think any explanation is needed.”
It was evident that Howard had not overheard all that had been said.
“I don’t know anything about Ridley,” he rejoined in a louder tone of
voice; “but I know that you have called me a thief, and I intend to
have satisfaction for it.”
“Satisfaction!” echoed Ray, his lip curling.
“That’s what I said,” continued Howard, growing bolder and more
threatening as he saw how quiet his opponent was. He made, however, a
great mistake in taking Ray’s calmness of manner as an indication of
timidity.
He coolly measured Howard from head to foot with a glance of contempt.
“Why, what do you mean, Howard, by _satisfaction_?” he said. “You
simply amaze me. You stoop low enough to rob my mail, and then, when
you overhear me accusing you of the theft, you have the audacity to ask
for _satisfaction_! What right have you to satisfaction? It is I that
want satisfaction. I am the one who was wronged.”
Howard winced perceptibly as the mail was mentioned, but by the time
Ray had stopped speaking, he had entirely recovered himself, and seemed
even angrier and more aggressive than before.
“Mail!” he burst out. “What mail have I robbed? What letters of yours
have I taken? Ray Wendell, take care how you accuse me of stealing――――”
Howard’s hardihood was exasperating to Ray. That he had taken the
letter was beyond doubt, and now that he should stand there and boldly
deny it was almost more than Ray’s patience could stand.
“There is nothing to be gained by dodging in this manner, Howard,” he
said. “You understand me perfectly. You know that you took from Ridley
last week that letter which I and the college had been expecting from
Slade, relating to the date of the convention. What your reasons may
have been I can only guess, but that you robbed my mail is beyond
question.”
“It’s an infernal lie!” shouted Howard, closing his fists
threateningly, “and I’ll make you eat your words, I’ll make you――――”
“You’ll do _what_?” exclaimed Ray, his eyes flashing.
“I’ll teach you not to accuse me of stealing,” he went on fiercely.
“Why, what do you suppose I should want with your paltry letters?”
“Never mind discussing the reasons,” cried Ray, his temper now well up.
“I say you stole that letter.”
“And I say you are a liar――――”
The words had barely escaped Howard’s lips when Ray leaped forward and
seized him by the throat.