For the Honor of Randall Part 16

By this time Tom had a.s.sisted Miss Philock to the sh.o.r.e, and Professor Tines, seeing the lady, whom it developed later, he had been escorting from a lecture, hastened to join her.

"I trust you have suffered no injuries," he said.

"No. And you, Professor Tines?" she asked, and Tom fancied there was a note of anxiety in her voice.

"Oh I am all right, except that I am very much upset over this annoyance."

"I fancy we all were," said Miss Philock, with better grace than Tom had dared hoped she would show. "It was an accident."

"I am not so sure of that," said the Latin teacher grimly.

"Oh, it was, I a.s.sure you!" broke in Dutch earnestly. "I couldn't work the rudder. We--we didn't mean to do it."

There was silence for a moment, during which the boys looked first at the damaged and overturned ice boat, and then at the figures of the professor, and the lady teacher of Fairview.

"I--er--I think we had better be getting on, Mr. Tines," the lady said, at length. "It is getting late."

It was a gentle hint, and he took it.

"I shall see you young gentlemen later," said the professor significantly, as he started up the river bank with Miss Philock.

"And it's us for a walk back," spoke Tom slowly, when they had remained in silence for about a minute. "Dutch, we are much obliged for your evening of pleasure," he added sarcastically.

"Oh, hang it all, I didn't mean----" began the fun-loving lad.

"Oh, forget it! Of course it wasn't your fault," broke in Sid. "Come on. Let's haul the boat up on sh.o.r.e, and hoof it back. We can explain to Zane."

Fortunately for themselves our friends had held good records of late, and the proctor did not question them too closely, as they drifted in some time after the locking-up hour. They told of the accident, but did not mention Mr. Tines and his companion.

"We'll just hold that in reserve," decided Tom. "Fancy him being out with Miss Philock!"

Probably the walk back to Randall from Fairview gave Professor Tines a chance to change his views regarding the happening of the night. For, though he looked rather grimly at our heroes in chapel the next morning, he said nothing, and there was no official report of the occurrence, for which Tom and his chums were duly thankful.

"Pitchfork is more of a gentleman than we gave him credit for," he declared. "We each have something to hold over him in reserve, for I don't believe he'd like the story told broadcast."

Dutch and the others clubbed together to pay for the damage to the ice boat, and the owner said they could use it as often as they wished. But there was no more chance that Winter for Spring came with a rush after that last big freeze, and there were no more cold weather sports.

Now indeed did the talk turn to ball games, and track athletics. The latter had the call, for it was something new for Randall, and the other inst.i.tutions of learning that formed the four-sided league.

Several committee meetings were held, and a more or less tentative program was made up. Available material was talked of, and every day saw more and more candidates in the gymnasium, out on the cinder path, or in the hammer circle.

"Have you any line of what Boxer Hall is doing?" asked Tom of Dan Woodhouse one afternoon, when a number of the lads were gathered in the reading room of the gymnasium after some hard practice.

"Well, they're going strong," replied Kindlings. "But if we all keep on the job here at Randall, and do our best, I think we can win. But every fellow has got to do his best."

"Sure," a.s.sented Sid.

"Are Langridge and Gerhart entered?" Frank wanted to know.

"Yes; both of 'em. But don't let that worry you. There are others at Boxer Hall more to be feared than those two. I tell you we're not going to have a walkover. Exter is going to show up strong, too, for a new college."

A group of lads were gathered about a table on which were several sporting papers, containing a number of photographs of athletes, and showing scenes at various meets.

"I tell you fellows what it is," put in Shambler, who seemed to have gotten very much at home in the few weeks he had been at Randall, "practice is the only thing that will help us win the champions.h.i.+p. I know, for I've been through the mill. We've got to practice more."

"Did you do it at Harkness?" asked Phil.

"Yes, some, but I've trained by myself a lot," and there was a trace of boastfulness in his voice. "I'm going to make the mile run," he added.

"And win?" asked Sid, half sarcastically, turning over a pile of papers.

"Sure," a.s.sented Shambler. "I--er--" Suddenly he reached out and picked a paper from amid the pile. He seemed to be nervously folding it in his hands. "I used to be a good runner," he went on, "and there's no reason why I can't do as well again. I think I'd rather do that than be in the high or broad jump. But of course----"

"All the candidates will have a try-out," put in Kindlings. "The best one wins, and he ought to be willing to do the best that's in him for Randall."

"Of course," a.s.sented Shambler, and he seemed glad of the interruption, still nervously folding the paper.

A few minutes later he left the room rather hurriedly, and, some time after that, Phil began looking through the pile of ill.u.s.trated papers for a certain one.

"It was here a while ago," he said to Kindlings. "I wanted to show you how they had the hurdles arranged at the last intercollegiate meet in New York. It's a good idea I think. Where the mischief is that paper?"

"Which one?" asked Tom, who was reading a book on training rules.

"The one Shambler was looking at. Oh, here he comes now. What'd you do with that sporting paper, Shambler?" asked Phil.

"Oh--er--that paper--here it is," and he pulled it from his pocket.

"Guess I stuck it there by mistake."

He tossed it over, and turned into the billiard room, with a backward glance at the lads who were now bending over the pages of the journal.

"That's what I mean," went on Phil, pointing to an ill.u.s.tration. "h.e.l.lo, the page is torn. It wasn't a while ago."

"What's on the other side?" asked Kindlings half curiously.

"Some baseball nine--I can't read all the name--it's some professional team," replied Phil, "and one of the players is missing--torn off.

Well, never mind, you can see the hurdles, though. I think we might use that kind at our meet."

Then the two fell to talking of various forms of athletic apparatus, eventually tossing the paper aside. Tom picked it up when his two friends had gone in to have a game of pool.

"That page wasn't torn before Shambler picked this paper up," mused our hero. "I wonder what his object was?"

CHAPTER XI

THE WAY OF A MAID