For the Honor of Randall Part 51

RANDALL'S HONOR CLEARED

"Come on boys! One last song!" begged Bean Perkins of his well-nigh exhausted lads. "One last song to celebrate the victory!"

They gave it with a will, followed by cheer after cheer,--for the team, for the college, for the colors, for their rivals, for the girls--anything and everything was cheered.

Exter, Boxer Hall and Fairview n.o.bly did their share, too. They paid full tribute to their successful rivals.

"And we win! We win! We win!" cried Kindlings, as he capered about the group of tired but happy athletes.

"As if there ever was a doubt," said Holly Cross.

"Oh, you get out!" protested Kindlings. "It was all in the air until the last minute. Tom and Sid pulled us out of the fire."

The field was being overrun with spectators, who sought to congratulate victors, or commiserate with the losers. Randall's colors were seen on every side, for, as is always the case in college games, the winning hues always appear mysteriously at the end of the contest.

"Come on, the girls are waiting for us," said Phil, who had changed into his ordinary garments. "They want to congratulate you, Sid."

"Then they'll have to wait," was the seeming ungracious answer. "I'm all dust, and I'm going to have a shower first. I'll be with you in five minutes."

He raced away to the dressing rooms, and Tom, Phil and Frank, who were "presentable" now, went to talk to Madge and her chums.

"Well, how about it?" asked Tom, as he approached them.

"We haven't a word to say," replied Miss Tyler. "You won fairly and squarely, and--well----"

"You helped," said Tom boldly. "You waved our colors at the right time."

"Yes, just as if she belonged to Randall, instead of Fairview," said Miss Harrison.

"She does, I guess," said Ruth, with a glance at Tom.

There was laughter, talking, quips and jibes, but over all there was the spirit of gaiety.

"Your mother wired her congratulations," said Mr. Parsons, making his way to Tom. "I'm going back home again now."

"No, you're not, dad," insisted the winner of the mile run. "You're going to stay here to-night."

"You'll have the time of your life," added Sid. "Better stay."

"Well, I guess I will," agreed Mr. Parsons. "I begin to feel like a boy again."

Tom and his chums said farewell to their girl friends, promising to call on them later. Then, while still the cheers of Bean Perkins and his lads were ringing over the field, faint but full of spirit, the winning team started for Randall. Mr. Parsons went with them.

And such a night as it was that followed.

Proctor Zane threw up his hands early in the evening, and retired to his quarters. Dr. Churchill said it was the best thing to do under the circ.u.mstances. For the spirit of fun, of jollity, and of victory was abroad in the land, and Randall celebrated as she had never celebrated before.

Mr. Parsons was an honored guest, and he proved himself to be imbued with the immortal spirit of youth, for he was like a lad again, capering about.

Bonfires were built, spreads innumerable were held, professors were serenaded, and forced to make congratulatory speeches. Even "Pitchfork," had to come out to speak to the team, though he did not show very good grace. But dear old Dr. Churchill struck the right note, and was roundly cheered as he gracefully spoke of the victory of the "track eleven and the baseball racers."

But he meant well.

And so that night at Randall pa.s.sed into honored and never-to-be-forgotten history.

They were in their room--the four inseparables. It was a few days after the great games, and the trophies indicating the championship of Randall had been placed in an honored place in the gymnasium. Also the tale of the victory had gone abroad to the world.

Tom's father had returned home, to tell the details, the law case was a closed event. Now came talk--talk of what had been.

"It was great--couldn't have been better," declared Frank Simpson.

"There is only one regret."

"What's that?" asked Phil.

"About that charge against me. I don't say anything about Shambler, for he admitted his guilt. But I know I didn't do anything wrong."

"We'll forget Shambler," suggested Tom. "I guess he's vanished."

"But I would like to have a ruling on my case," went on Frank. "I think it sort of stands as a black mark against Randall. I don't see why that A. A. U. committee doesn't answer."

There was a moment of silence. No one seemed to know what to say. The alarm clock ticked off the seconds. Tom was sprawled out on the sofa, with Phil crowding him. In the armchairs were Frank and Sid. There came a knock on the door.

"Who's there?" demanded Tom.

"A telegram for Mr. Simpson," announced Wallops.

The Big Californian leaped for the portal, and swung it open. In an instant he had s.n.a.t.c.hed the yellow envelope, and torn it open. Rapidly he scanned the message:

"Wow! Hurray!" he shouted.

"What is it?" demanded Tom.

"It's good news! This is a telegram from the protest committee of the A.

A. U. It says: 'Your case, and others like it, ruled on some time ago.

Settled you were strictly amateurs. Letter follows. You are eligible in all amateur contests.' What do you think of that?" cried Frank, capering about. "I knew I was right."

"And so did we!" cried Phil.

The letter settled any last doubts. It came a few days later, and stated that soon after the charity games, in which Frank, and others, took part, that the question of professionalism, on account of the money prizes, had come up, and had been settled in favor of the amateurs. No hint, even, of professionalism tainted them, it was said.

A copy of the ruling was at once sent to Exter and the other colleges in the Tonoka League, and Wallace replied at once, expressing his regret at having raised the point, and congratulating Frank.

"But it's all for the best," declared Frank.

"Yes," agreed Tom, "for now there's nothing against the honor of Randall, since Shambler has left."

"And now there won't be any question of your playing baseball, football or rowing on the boat crew--if we have one," said Phil.