For the Honor of Randall Part 33

"Not much. He goes by the name Shambler now, but I'm almost sure he's the same fellow."

"You are? Then this thing has got to be looked into. We're not going up against any such game as that. It wouldn't be fair."

"I should say not!" agreed Durkin. "But we must go slow. It wouldn't do to make a mistake."

"I should say not. There'd be a pretty muddle if we did. But I'm sure I'm right, though I'm going to get more information before I say anything. Come on over, and we'll talk to some of the fellows about it."

"Now I wonder what in the world is up?" mused Tom. "They were certainly talking about Shambler, and from what they said it seems as if that wasn't his name. I wonder if there can be anything wrong? Jove! I hope not, for the sake of Randall. And yet what could it be? Maybe he isn't the best kind of a character, but that can't make any difference in his standing as an athlete. If these Exter fellows are as squeamish as that, it's time we knew it."

Almost unconsciously Tom found himself defending the lad for whom he had felt such a dislike, not long since. Perhaps the little talk with Madge Tyler had made a change in our hero.

"Well, I won't say anything about it," decided the tall pitcher. "But I'll keep my eyes and ears open."

The session of the joint committee was almost over when Sid, who had been strolling about, met Tom.

"I say," began Sid, "I just had a sort of funny experience."

"What kind?" asked Tom, wondering if Sid's was anything like his own.

"Why some of these Exter fellows have been asking me questions about one of our lads, such as where he came from, what sort of a record he had, and all that."

"They have?" cried Tom. "Was it about Shambler? Because if it was----"

"No, it wasn't Shambler," replied Sid. "Why, have you----"

"Who was it?" blurted out Tom.

"Frank Simpson," was the unexpected reply. "Our own Frank."

"What?" cried Tom, as if unwilling to believe it. "They wanted to know about Frank?"

"Yes, all about how long he'd been at Randall, where he came from, what his record was, and whether he was going to take part in the games."

"What'd you tell 'em?"

"I said I didn't know much about him, except that he came from Stanford University, where he was a crackerjack on the gridiron. I said he was going to pull down some points for us on the track, too."

"What did they say?"

"Nothing, except that they thanked me, and I heard one of 'em say to the other that they were going to 'look it up,' whatever that meant."

"Say!" cried Tom, "there's something in the wind, Sid. I had almost the same experience, only it was about Shambler. I wonder what's wrong?"

"Nothing, of course. I guess these Exter lads are so high-toned that they want to know a fellow's pedigree before they'll compete with him.

Maybe he has to have ancestors that came over in the Mayflower, or else are D. A. R. or F. F. V. members."

"Oh, get out!" cried Tom in protest. "What would the Daughters of the American Revolution, or the First Families of Virginia have to do with whether or not Exter lads would compete with us?"

"Well, I only mentioned it," said Sid. "There's something up, that's sure. But it can't be much. Frank is as straight as a string, and, while I think Shambler is a bit of a sport, no one can say anything about his abilities as an athlete. He's one of the best in Randall."

"I grant you that," declared Tom, "but it's mighty queer. We'll keep still about it, and see what turns up."

"Why, I had it in mind to tip Frank and Shambler off, that someone was making inquiries about them," spoke Sid.

"Forget it," advised his chum. "It will only raise a row. Just wait and see how it comes out. Then will be time enough to spring it, though for the life of me I can't see what those Exter lads are going to 'investigate,' Sid."

"Same here. Maybe they need a little investigating on their own account, though they seem like a nice cla.s.s of fellows."

Tom and Sid talked the matter over at some length, but could come to no conclusion. They decided not to mention to Phil what they had heard, though it was the first time they had kept a secret from their new chums.

To Tom and Sid, it seemed that there were many suspicious looks cast at Frank and Shambler on the part of more than one Exter lad, and yet, they agreed later, this might be only the effect of their imagination. The two lads, whose names had thus been so oddly brought up, were not, seemingly, aware of anything unusual.

The conference broke up, and Holly and Kindlings joined their friends from Randall.

"Well, it's all settled," announced Holly. "We'll post the names day after to-morrow, of all those who will contest in the first event. Then after two days, to give a chance for protests, we'll run off the big hurdle race. Later on all the names will be posted."

"What's that about a chance for protests?" asked Tom quickly.

"That's the usual thing," explained Kindlings. "The names have to be posted, and if any fellow wants to protest against another he has that right, and the committee will hear charges."

"Do you think there'll be any protests?" asked Sid, looking at Tom significantly.

"No. Why should there be?" inquired Holly quickly. "But the rules call for the posting of the names in that way, just the same. You don't object; do you?"

"Not in the least. Say, that hurdle race ought to be sport," and Sid thus changed the subject quickly.

"Well, Randall has a good chance for first prize," declared Kindlings.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE BIG HURDLE RACE

"Come on now, fellows, all together!" cried Bean Perkins, the most redoubtable cheer-leader and shouter that Randall ever numbered among her sons. "All together, and we'll give 'em a song to warm 'em up!"

"What'll it be?" demanded a lad in the throng that was to urge on the sons of Randall in cheer and chorus. "'Conquer or die,' Bean?"

"Naw! Save that song until you see we need it. Give 'em something jolly."

"How about 'We're Going to Wipe the Ground Up, With Boxer Hall To-Day?'"

asked another.

"Nothing to it," replied Bean. "We'll sing 'I'd rather be a Randallite, and live on sawdust pie, than go to any other place beneath the bright blue sky!' That's the kind of a song they need. All together now."

"Hurray!"