Batting to Win Part 23

"Some one's coming in late," murmured Phil.

"Likely to get caught," added Tom. "I saw Proc. Zane sneaking around a few minutes ago."

"By Jove, that walks like Sid!" whispered Phil, a moment later. "It is Sid," he added.

"Yes, and there goes Zane after him!" groaned Tom. "He's caught, sure, unless we can warn him. Poor old Sid!"

"Too late," remarked Phil, as he saw the figure of the proctor break into a run. Sid also darted off, but soon he saw he had no chance to escape, and he stood still.

"Ah, Mr. Henderson, good evening," greeted the proctor sarcastically.

"Out rather late, aren't you?"

"I'm--I'm afraid so, sir," answered Sid hesitatingly; his two chums, from their position in the dark shadows of the faculty house being able to hear everything.

"No doubt about it," went on the proctor gleefully. He had kept vigil for many nights of late, and his prey had escaped him. Now he had a quarry. "Have you permission to be out after hours?" demanded the official.

"No, sir."

"I thought not. Report to Dr. Churchill directly after chapel," and the proctor, by the light of a small pocket electric lamp he carried, began to enter Sid's name in his book. As he did so Tom and Phil could see the watch-dog of the college gate gaze sharply at their chum. Then Mr. Zane, putting out his hand, caught hold of Sid's coat.

"Are they going to fight?" asked Tom in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "Sid must be crazy!"

A moment later came the proctor's voice.

"Ha, Mr. Henderson, I thought I smelled liquor on you! I am not deceived. What have you in that pocket?"

"Noth--nothing, sir," stammered Sid.

There was a momentary struggle, and the proctor pulled something from an inner pocket of Sid's coat. By the gleam of the electric lamp, Tom and Phil could see that it was a bottle--a flask of the kind usually employed to carry intoxicants--broad and flat, to fit in the pocket.

"Ha! Mr. Henderson, this is serious!" exclaimed the proctor. "Trying to smuggle liquor into the college! Come with me to my room at once. This must be investigated. I will find out who are guilty with you, in this most serious breach of the rules. A bottle of liquor! Shameful! Come with me, sir! Dr. Churchill shall hear of this instantly!" and he took hold of Sid's arm, as if he feared the student would escape.

"What do you think of that?" gasped Tom, as the full meaning of what he had seen came home to him.

"I give up," answered Phil hopelessly. "Poor, old Sid!"

CHAPTER XVII

SID KEEPS SILENT

Tom and Phil wished they could have been a witness to the scene which took place a little later in the study of Dr. Churchill. Not from mere motives of curiosity, but that they might, if possible, aid their chum.

That he was in serious straits they well knew, for the rules of Randall (as indeed is the case at all colleges) were most stringent on the subject of liquor.

Poor Sid, led like a prisoner by the proctor, walked moodily up to the faculty residence, while Tom and Phil, with sorrow in their hearts, went to their room. Their grief was too deep and genuine to admit of discussion.

"You wished to see me?" inquired Dr. Churchill, coming out of his study into his reception room, as Sid and the proctor stood up to greet him, having previously sent in word by the servant. "Ha, what is it now?" and the venerable head of Randall looked over the tops of his spectacles at the two; the official, stern and unyielding, and the student with a puzzled, worried air, sorrowful yet not at all guilty. Dr. Churchill held a book and his finger was between the pages, as if he hoped soon to be able to go back and resume his reading at the place he had left off.

"I regret to announce that I have a most flagrant violation of the rules to report to you, Dr. Churchill," began Mr. Zane.

"Another of my boys out late," remarked the doctor, a half smile playing around his lips. "Well, of course that can't be allowed, but I suppose he has some good excuse. He went to see about a challenge for a ball game, or it was so hot in his room that he couldn't study," and the president smiled, then, as he caught sight of a little blaze of logs in the fireplace of his reception room (for the evening was rather chilly), he realized that his latter explanation about a hot room would scarcely hold. And, be it said, Dr. Churchill was always looking for some excuse for indiscreet students, to the chagrin of the officious proctor.

"Doubtless a baseball matter took him out," went on the president. "Of course we can't allow that. Discipline is discipline, but if you will write out for me a couple of hundred lines of Virgil--by the way, you play at shortstop, don't you?" and the doctor looked quizzically at Sid.

The president had rather less knowledge of baseball than the average lady. "How is the eleven coming on, Mr. Henderson?"

The doctor tried to appear interested, but, for the life of him he never could remember whether baseball was played with nine, ten or a dozen men, albeit he attended all the champions.h.i.+p games, and shouted with the rest when the team won. He wanted to appear interested now, however, and he was anxious to get back to his reading.

"I regret to inform you," went on the proctor (which was not true, for Sid well knew that Mr. Zane took a fiendish delight in what he was about to say), "I regret to state that I caught Mr. Henderson coming in after hours to-night; and I would not think so much of that, were it not for the condition in which I caught him," and the proctor a.s.sumed a saintly air.

"I don't quite understand," remarked the doctor, laying down his book, but taking care to mark a certain pa.s.sage. Sid was idly aware that it was a volume of Sanskrit, the doctor being an authority on that ancient language of the Hindoos.

"I regret to say that Mr. Henderson is intoxicated!" blurted out the proctor.

"I am not, sir!" retorted the second baseman, it being his first remark since entering the room. "I have never touched a drop of intoxicating liquor in my life, sir!"

There was a ring in his voice, and, as he stood up and faced his accuser there was that in his manner which would indicate to any unprejudiced person that he was perfectly sober.

"Intoxicated!" exclaimed the doctor, for he had a nameless horror of anything like that. "Don't make such a charge, Mr. Zane, unless you are positive----"

"I am positive, Dr. Churchill."

"I have never touched a drop of liquor," insisted Sid.

Dr. Churchill, with a stern look on his rugged face, advanced and took hold of Sid by the arms, not severely, not even tightly, but with a gentle, friendly pressure. He looked into the troubled eyes of the lad--troubled but not ashamed--worried, perhaps, but not abashed. The doctor bent closer.

"I am no authority on intoxicants," went on the president grimly, "but I should say you were mistaken, Mr. Zane."

"Will Mr. Henderson deny that I took a pint bottle of liquor from him not ten minutes ago?" asked Mr. Zane, as he produced the incriminating evidence.

Sid's face turned red under its tan--it had been rather pale before--but he did not answer. Dr. Churchill looked grave.

"Is this true?" he asked.

"I did have the bottle in my pocket," admitted Sid. "But it was not for myself. I took it----"

The president raised a restraining hand.

"Wait," he said. "I will send for Dr. Marshall. This is serious." He sighed as he looked at his book. To-night he felt, more than ever, what it meant, to be the head of an inst.i.tution where several hundred young men--healthy, vitalized animals--were held in leash only by slender cords. Dr. Churchill summoned a messenger, and sent him for the college physician.

"Mr. Henderson is no more intoxicated than I am, and I never take a drop, nor give it," declared the physician. "I guess you're mistaken, Mr. Zane."

"Is this liquor?" demanded the proctor, extending the bottle.

Dr. Marshall looked at the bottle through the light, poured out some of the contents into his palm, and smelled of the liquid.