For the Honor of Randall Part 37

CHAPTER XXV

A DISPUTED POINT

For a few moments after the dramatic withdrawal of Shambler, following his practical confession of guilt, no one spoke, and no one seemed to know what to do. Then Wallace, who acted well his part under the trying circ.u.mstances, again arose.

"I can't tell you fellows of Randall how we hated to do this," he said.

"But we felt it to be our duty--our duty toward ourselves as well as toward you and the other colleges."

"Yes, I--I guess it had to be done," admitted Holly, sorrowfully.

"I suppose there is no doubt about it--the charge of professionalism,"

suggested Dan Woodhouse gently.

"None whatever, I'm sorry to say," went on Wallace. "The first intimation I had was when Jack Pendleton and Hal Durkin, two of our players, spoke to me about it, after they saw Shambler, the other day.

He goes by that name now, but he played as a professional under the name of Jacobs."

"As soon as Durkin and Pendleton told me their suspicions I began to make inquiries," went on Wallace, "and I soon found that they were right. Here is a picture of the professional nine with which Shambler played," and he held up a sporting paper, with a black ink mark around the left-fielder. The boys crowded up to look at it, and recognized Shambler at once.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Tom, "that's the same paper that we saw Shambler have in the reading room one day--the paper that he tore a picture from!

It was his own likeness, and he was afraid we'd recognize him."

Several recalled that incident.

"I guess there's nothing else to be said," admitted Holly with a sigh.

"I suppose I needn't a.s.sure you Exter fellows that we knew nothing of this," he added quickly. "We never would have admitted Shambler to the contests if we had dreamed of such a charge hanging over him."

"We know that," Wallace a.s.sured him quietly. "It's too bad, but there's no harm done. Do we understand that you withdraw Shambler's name?"

"Sure!" exclaimed Kindlings. "It's too bad, for he is a fine athlete.

I'm glad, now, he wasn't in the hurdle race."

"I guess he got in the wrong kind of company," went on Wallace. "I understand he has been seen several times of late with a fellow named Nelson. He, too, is a professional, but he has been barred from even his own cla.s.s because of cheating. He helped Shambler train."

"Nelson," mused Tom. "That must be the fellow I saw with Shambler, and the one I heard him talking to." It developed later that this was so.

Wallace laid before the committee several other items of proof of the charge he had made. They tended to show that Shambler had been one of the best amateur all-round athletes in the West. But he began going with a "sporty" set, and, needing more money than his folks could supply him, he accepted the invitation of a professional ball team to play for them one Summer. He managed to conceal the fact and returned to his college as an amateur until chance betrayed him. Then, having found in professional athletics a comparatively easy way to make money, he continued along that line, coming to Randall under false colors.

It was believed that he intended doing as he had often done before, secretly placing bets through Nelson, and so clearing a tidy sum.

Wallace showed Shambler's professional record in several events, and in every case the time, or distance, made was much better than the record of Shambler at Randall.

Wallace hesitated a moment, and then said:

"This case is not half as serious as the other, and we would not bring it up except that we feel that you would not want to enter a contestant against whom there was the least hint of professionalism. Am I right?"

"Exactly," declared Holly grimly. "Out with it, I guess we can take our medicine. I hope it isn't myself."

Probably not a lad present was prepared for what followed.

"It is a sad duty, but one I feel I have to do," went on the Exter manager, "when I say that Frank Simpson is also under the ban of professionalism."

"Frank Simpson!" gasped a score of voices.

"The big Californian!" added others.

"What's that?" cried Tom, as if he had not heard aright.

"It isn't possible!" fairly yelled Phil Clinton, as he leaped to his feet and held out his hand to Frank, who sat beside him. "I'll stake anything on Frank."

"So will I!" cried Tom and Sid. Wallace remained calmly looking at the lad against whom he had brought the ugly charge.

"Frank, answer him!" implored Tom pleadingly.

For a moment Frank had been so plainly stunned and surprised by the accusation that he did not know what to do. Then he slowly got up.

"I wish to say, most emphatically," he began in a calm voice, "that Mr.

Wallace is mistaken. He has either confused me with someone else, or his information is at fault. I am not a professional, I never have been one, I never intend to become one. I never took part in any professional games, and I never received any money for playing ball, or in any other contest. I can't make that too strong!"

"Hurray!"

"That's the way to talk!"

"Now we're coming back at 'em!"

Amid a babble of cries these were heard. There were angry looks cast at the Exter committee, and one or two lads started from their seats, and worked their way forward, as though to be in the fore when hostilities commenced.

Wallace stood there, calm and collected. He looked at Frank, who returned the gaze undismayed and unflinchingly.

"Do you insist, after Mr. Simpson's denial, that you are right?" asked Holly, when there was silence.

"I am sorry--but--I do," was the quiet answer.

There was a storm of hisses, but Holly stopped them with a wave of his hand.

"And when I say that, I do not in the least mean to reflect on Mr.

Simpson's word," said Wallace courteously. "I think he forgets, that is all, and I will proceed to give the facts. It is no pleasure to do this," he went on, "but duty very seldom is pleasant."

"Go ahead, old man, don't mind me," said Frank with a smile. "My conscience is clear. I think you're mistaken--that's all."

"I wish I was," replied the Exter lad. "But I have information that you took part, as a professional, in some games held on the Fourth of July, three years ago, in a park outside of San Francisco, California. In particular you took part in a running race, and you were paid the sum of fifty dollars. The affair was for some hospital or other charity, and there were a number of other semi-professionals who took part in it. Do you deny that?"

For a moment several thought that Frank Simpson would collapse, so surprised was he. Then he braced himself by a strong effort, and tried to speak. For a second or two no words would come, and then, in a husky voice he said:

"Part of that is true, and part is not. I did take part in those games, but it was strictly as an amateur. I can prove that. I have never been a professional."

"Isn't it true that you won the mile run?" asked Wallace.

"Yes, I did."