A PLAN AND A CONFESSION
Robinson's protest set forth succinctly that Cowan had, three years
previous, played left tackle on the football team of a certain
academy--whose right to the title of academy was often questioned--and
had received money for his services. Dates and other particulars were
liberally supplied, and the name and address of the captain of the team
were given. Altogether, the letter was discouragingly convincing, and
neither the coaches, the captain, nor the athletic officers really
doubted the truth of the charge.
Professor Nast, the chairman of the Athletic Committee, blinked gravely
through his glasses and looked about the room.
"You've sent for Mr. Cowan?" he asked.
"Yes," Mills answered; "he ought to be here in a minute. How in the
world was he allowed to get on to the team?"
"Well, his record was gone over, as we believed, very thoroughly year
before last," said Professor Nast; "and we found nothing against him. I
think--ah--it seems probable that he unintentionally misled us. Perhaps
he can--ah--explain."
When, however, Cowan faced the group of grave-faced men it was soon
evident that explanations were far from his thoughts. He had heard
enough before the summons reached him to enable him to surmise what
awaited him, and when Professor Nast explained their purpose in calling
him before them, Cowan only displayed what purported to be honest
indignation. He stormed violently against the Robinson authorities and
defied them to prove their charge. Mills listened a while impatiently
and then interrupted him abruptly.
"Do you deny the charge, Cowan, or don't you?" he asked.
"I refuse to reply to it," answered Cowan angrily. "Let them think what
they want to; I'm not responsible to them. It's all revenge, nothing
else. They tried to get me to go to them last September; offered me free
coaching, and guaranteed me a position on the team. I refused. And
here's the result."
Professor Nast brightened and a few of those present looked relieved.
But Mills refused to be touched by Cowan's righteousness, and asked
brusquely:
"Never mind what their motive is, Cowan. What we want to know is this:
Did you or did you not accept money for playing left tackle on that
team? Let us have an answer to that, please."
"It's absurd," said Cowan hotly. "Why, I only played three games--"
"Yes or no, please," said Mills.
For an instant Cowan's gaze faltered. He glanced swiftly about the room
and read only doubt or antagonism in the faces there. He shrugged his
broad shoulders and replied sneeringly:
"What's the good? You're all down on me now; you wouldn't believe me if
I told you."
"We're not all down on you," answered Mills. Professor Nast interrupted.
"One moment, Mr. Mills. I don't think Mr. Cowan understands the--ah--the
position we are in. Unless you can show to our satisfaction that the
charge is untrue, Mr. Cowan, we shall be obliged, under the terms of our
agreement with Robinson, to consider you ineligible. In that case, you
could not, of course, play against Robinson; in fact, you would not be
admitted to any branch of university athletics. Now, don't you think
that the best course for you to follow is to make a straightforward
explanation of your connection with the academy in question? We are not
here to judge the--ah--ethics of your course; only to decide as to
whether or no you are eligible to represent the college in athletics."
Cowan arose from his seat and with trembling fingers buttoned his
overcoat. His brow was black, but when he spoke, facing the head coach
and heedless of the rest, he appeared quite cool.
"Ever since practise began," he said, "you have been down on me and have
done everything you could to get rid of me. No matter what I did, it
wasn't right. Whether I'm eligible or ineligible, I'm done with you now.
You may fill my place--if you can; I'm out of it. You'll probably be
beaten; but that's your affair. If you are, I sha'n't weep over it."
He walked to the door and opened it.
"It's understood, I guess, that I've resigned from the team?" he asked,
facing Mills once more.
"Quite," said the latter dryly.
"All right. And now I don't mind telling you that I did get paid for
playing with that team. I played three games and took money every time.
It isn't a crime and I'm not ashamed of it, although to hear you talk
you'd think I'd committed murder. Good-night, gentlemen."
He passed out. Professor Nast blinked nervously.
"Dear me," he murmured, "dear me, how unpleasant!"
Mills smiled grimly, and, rising, stretched his limbs.
"I think what we have left to do won't take very long. I hardly think
that it is necessary for me to reply to the accusations brought by the
gentleman who has just left us."
"No, let's hear no more of it," said Preston. "I propose that we reply
to Robinson to-night and have an end of the business. To-morrow we'll
have plenty to think of without this," he added grimly.
The reply was written and forwarded the next day to Robinson, and the
following announcement was given out at Erskine:
The Athletic Committee has decided that Cowan is not eligible
to represent the college in the football game with Robinson,
and he has been withdrawn. A protest was received from the
Robinson athletic authorities yesterday afternoon, and an
investigation was at once made with the result stated. The
loss of Cowan will greatly weaken the team, it is feared, but
that fact has not been allowed to influence the committee.
The decision is heartily concurred in by the coaches, the
captain, and all officials, and, being in line with Erskine's
policy of purity in athletics, should have the instant
indorsement of the student body.
H.W. NAST, _Chairman_.
The announcement, as was natural, brought consternation, and for several
days the football situation was steeped in gloom. Witter and Hurst were
seized upon by the coaches and drilled in the tactics of right-guard. As
Foster had said, Witter, while he was a good player, was light for the
position. Hurst, against whom no objection could be brought on the
ground of weight, lacked experience. In the end Witter proved first
choice, and Hurst was comforted with the knowledge that he was
practically certain to get into the game before the whistle sounded for
the last time.
Meanwhile Artmouth came and saw and conquered to the tune of 6-0,
profiting by the news of Cowan's withdrawal and piling their backs
through Witter, Hurst, and Brown, all of whom took turns at right-guard.
The game was not encouraging from the Erskine point of view, and the
gloom deepened. Foster declared that it was so thick during the last
half of the contest that he couldn't see the backs. Neil saw the game
from the bench, and Paul, once more at left-half, played an excellent
game; but, try as he might, could not outdo Gillam. When it was over
Neil declared the honors even, but Paul took a less optimistic view and
would not be comforted.
All the evening, save for a short period when he went upstairs to
sympathize with Cowan, he bewailed his fate into Neil's ears. The latter
tried his best to comfort him, and predicted that on Monday Paul would
find himself in Gillam's place. But he scarcely believed it himself, and
so his prophecies were not convincing.
"What's the good of being decent?" asked Paul dolefully. "I wish I'd
gone to Robinson."
"No, you don't," said Neil. "You'd rather sit on the side-line at
Erskine than play with a lot of hired sluggers."
"Much you know about it," Paul growled. "If I don't get into the
Robinson game I'll--I'll leave college."
"But what good would that do?" asked Neil.
"I'd go somewhere where I'd stand a show. I'd go to Robinson or one of
the smaller places."
"I don't think you'd do anything as idiotic as that," answered Neil.
"It'll be hard luck if you miss the big game, but you've got three more
years yet. What's one? You're certain to stand the best kind of a show
next year."
"I don't see how. Gillam doesn't graduate until 1903."
"But you can beat him out for the place next year. All you need is more
experience. Gillam's been at it two years here. Besides, it would be
silly to leave a good college just because you couldn't play on the
football team. Don't be like Cowan and think football's the only thing a
chap comes here for."
"They've used him pretty shabbily," said Paul.
"That's what Cowan thinks. I don't see how they could do anything else."
"He's awfully cut up. I'm downright sorry for him. He says he's going to
pack up and leave."
"And he's been trying to make you do the same, eh?" asked Neil. "Well,
you tell him I'm very well satisfied with Erskine and haven't the least
desire to change."
"You?" asked Paul.
"Certainly. We hang together, don't we?"
Paul grinned.
"You're a good chap, chum," he said gratefully. "But--" relapsing again
into gloom--"you're not losing your place on the team, and you don't
know how it feels. When a fellow's set his heart on it--"
"I think I do know," answered Neil. "I know how I felt when my shoulder
went wrong and I thought I was off for good and all. I didn't like it.
But cheer up, Paul, and give 'em fits Monday. Slam 'round, let yourself
loose; show 'em what you can do. Down with Gillam!"
"Oh, I dare say," muttered Paul dejectedly.
Neil laid awake a long time that night; he was full of sympathy for his
room-mate. With him friendship meant more than it does to the average
boy of nineteen, and he was ready and eager to do anything in his power
that would insure Paul's getting into the Robinson game. The trouble was
that he could think of nothing, although he lay staring into the
darkness, thinking and thinking, until Paul had been snoring comfortably
across the room for more than an hour.
The next afternoon, Sunday, Neil, obeying the trainer's instructions,
went for a walk. Paul begged off from accompanying him, and Neil sought
Sydney. That youth was delighted to go, and so, Neil alternately pushing
the tricycle and walking beside it while Sydney propelled it himself,
the two followed the river for several miles into the country. The
afternoon was cold but bright, and being outdoors was a pleasure to any
healthy person. Neil forgot some of his worries and remembered that,
after all, he was still a boy; that football is not the chief thing in
college life, and that ten years hence it would matter little to him
whether he played for his university against her rival or looked on from
the bench. And it was that thought that suggested to him a means of
sparing Paul the bitter disappointment that he dreaded.
The plan seemed both simple and feasible, and he wondered why he had not
thought of it before. To be sure, it involved the sacrificing of an
ambition of his own; but to-day, out here among the pines and beeches,
with the clear blue sky overhead and the eager breeze bringing the color
to his cheeks, the sacrifice seemed paltry and scarcely a sacrifice at
all. He smiled to himself, glad to have found the solution of Paul's
trouble, which was also his own; but suddenly it occurred to him that
perhaps he had no right to do what he contemplated. The ethics were
puzzling, and presently he turned to Sydney, who had been silently and
contentedly wheeling himself along across the road, and sought
his counsel.
"Look here, Syd, you're a level-headed sort of chump. Give me your
valuable opinion on this, will you? Now--it's a supposititious case, you
know--here are two fellows, A and B, each trying for the
same--er--prize. Now, supposing A has just about reached it and B has
fallen behind; and supposing I--"
"Eh?" asked Sydney.
"Yes, I meant A. Supposing A knows that B is just as deserving of the
prize as he is, and that--that he'll make equally as good use of it. Do
you follow, Syd?"
"Y--yes, I think so," answered the other doubtfully.
"Well, now, the question I want your opinion on is this: Wouldn't it be
perfectly fair for A to--well, slip a cog or two, you know--"
"Slip a cog?" queried Sydney, puzzled.
"Yes; that is," explained Neil, "play off a bit, but not enough for any
of the fellows to suspect, and so let B get the plum?"
"Well," answered Sydney, after a moment's consideration, "it sounds fair
enough--"
"That's what I think," said Neil eagerly.
"But maybe A and B are not the only ones interested. How about the
conditions of the contest? Don't they require that each man shall do his
best? Isn't it intended that the prize shall go to the one who really
is the best?"
"Oh, well, in a manner, maybe," answered Neil. He was silent a moment.
The ethics was more puzzling than ever. Then: "Of course, it's only a
supposititious case, you understand, Syd," he assured him earnestly.
"Oh, of course," answered the other readily. "Hadn't we better turn
here?"
The journey back was rather silent. Neil was struggling with his
problem, and Sydney, too, seemed to have something on his mind. When the
town came once more into view around a bend in the road Sydney
interrupted Neil's thoughts.
"Say, Neil, I've got a--a confession to make." His cheeks were very red
and he looked extremely embarrassed. Neil viewed him in surprise.
"A confession? You haven't murdered the Dean, have you?"
"No. It--it's something rather different. I don't believe that it will
make any difference in our--our friendship, but--it might."
"It won't," said Neil. "Now, fire ahead."
"Well, you recollect the day you found me on the way from the field and
pushed me back to college?"
"Of course. Your old ice-wagon had broken down and I--"
"That's it," interrupted Sydney, with a little embarrassed laugh. "It
hadn't."
"What hadn't? Hadn't what?"
"The machine; it hadn't broken down."
"But I saw it," exclaimed Neil. "What do you mean, Syd?"
"I mean that it hadn't really broken down, Neil. I--the truth is I had
pried one of the links up with a screw-driver."
Neil stared in a puzzled way.
"But--what for?" he asked.
"Don't you understand?" asked Sydney, shame-faced. "Because I wanted to
know you, and I thought if you found me there with my machine busted
you'd try to fix it; and I'd make your acquaintance. It--it was awfully
dishonest, I know," muttered Sydney at the last.
Neil stared for a moment in surprise. Then he clapped the other on the
shoulder and laughed uproariously.
"Oh, to think of guileless little Syd being so foxy!" he cried. "I
wouldn't have believed it if any one else had told me, Syd."
"Well," said Sydney, very red in the face, but joining in the laughter,
"you don't mind?"
"Mind?" echoed Neil, becoming serious again, "why of course I don't.
What is there to mind, Syd? I'm glad you did it, awfully glad." He laid
his arm over the shoulders of the lad on the seat. "Here, let me push a
while. Queer you should have cared that much about knowing me; but--but
I'm glad." Suddenly his laughter returned.
"No wonder that old fossil in the village thought it was a queer sort of
a break," he shouted. "He knew what he was talking about after all when
he suggested cold-chisels, didn't he?"