For the Honor of Randall: A Story of College Athletics

by Lester Chadwick

  CHAPTER XIII

  TOM SEES SOMETHING

  "What do you suppose keeps him?" asked Sid.

  "Who?" inquired Phil, as he strolled beside Helen Newton.

  "Tom, of course. He ought to be here by this time."

  "Maybe he missed a car," suggested Ruth.

  "He's had time to get three or four," declared Frank. "I believe he'splaying some joke on us."

  "Then Madge Tyler is also," spoke Mabel Harrison. "I wonder if she----"

  "There she is now!" suddenly exclaimed Helen.

  "And someone is with her. It isn't----" began Ruth.

  She stopped in sudden confusion, and all eyes were turned toward alittle open place in the grove of trees, where two figures were seen--ayouth and a maiden. And, though the girl was undoubtedly Madge, theyouth was not Tom Parsons, and that fact held a world of meaning to allof them.

  "It isn't Tom," finished Phil, after a moment of scrutiny. "Who is it!He's got his back turned this way."

  "Looks like Roger Barnes," remarked Sid.

  "No, I saw Roger with Clare Hopkins," remarked Mabel, naming two of thestudents at the co-educational institution. "He tried to get up a ballgame for to-day, but none of the other boys would agree to play. Itisn't Roger."

  "It can't be Lem Sellig," ventured Helen.

  "Oh, come on, let's find a good place to eat lunch," proposed Ruth, witha laudable desire to change the embarrassing subject. "Maybe Tom willcome along later. We must save him some."

  "Not too much," objected Phil. "We're hungry, and he could just as wellhave been here on time as not."

  "Phil, haven't you any sense?" his sister managed to whisper to him."Can't you see that something has happened?"

  "What?" asked Phil, innocently enough. Phil never was strong onintrigue.

  "Oh! Stupid, I'll tell you later!" whispered Ruth. "Don't say anythingmore now."

  "That's right," admitted Phil good-naturedly. "Every time I open mymouth I put my foot in it, as the poet says."

  They all laughed--rather constrainedly it is true, and more than oneglance was directed toward Madge Tyler and her companion ere theydisappeared amid the trees whence came the shouts and laughter of theparties that had come on the May walk.

  "And that's why Tom didn't want to get dressed, and come with us,"murmured Phil in Sid's ear when he got a chance. "He and Madge had aquarrel."

  "I guess so. But who's she with?"

  "Give it up. Pass the pickles; will you?"

  Thus Phil got rid of his friend's worriment.

  "Oh!" suddenly screamed Ruth, as she made a quick movement away fromwhere the table cloth was spread out. "Oh, take it away, somebody! Do!"

  "What is it?" asked Sid solicitously. "A snake?"

  "I don't know, but it's something big and black. I just saw it movingunder the edge of that plate of cocoanut macaroons. Oh!"

  "I don't know what it is," spoke Sid, as he reached his hand out towardthe plate, "but be it a veritable salamander I'll take it away. Thosemacaroons are too good to let a creeping or crawling thing make offwith them. Come out, you villain!" he shouted, and lifted up the plate.

  Something black, with whirring wings flew out from its hiding placeunder the plate. It made straight for Phil who, not exactly from fear,but from instinct, dodged. It was a fatal error for he lunged overtoward the glass jar of lemonade and, a moment later, the beverage hadupset, some of it flying over into the lap of Ruth.

  "There, look what you've done!" she cried to her brother. "And this wasmy best dress, too! It's ruined!"

  She began wiping up the spots of lemonade with her handkerchief.

  "It'll come out," consoled Phil, as he turned to look at the flight ofthe fluttering insect. "Take a little vinegar, or--er--something likethat."

  "Lemonade's an acid, and it needs an alkali to take it out," declaredFrank. "Vinegar is an acid too. It isn't a case of like curing like inthis case."

  "How do you know?" demanded Sid. "Did you ever take spots out ofdresses?"

  "No, but I did out of a pair of white trousers that had the same sort ofa bath as Ruth's dress got," declared the Big Californian. "It workedfine, too."

  "I think lemonade is neutral," put in Phil. "At least this is, forthere's none left. Sorry I spoiled the party."

  "Oh, there's more," spoke Helen. "I brought along a jar in my basket.Pass it over, will you please, Phil."

  The additional supply of lemonade was broached and they fell to talkingmerrily again, though there was an undercurrent of suspense noticeable.It was clear that the girls did not know what to make of the absence ofMadge, and they tried to cover it up by gay laughter.

  "Well, you didn't happen to bring along any more sandwiches; did youHelen?" asked Phil with a sigh, as he finished his--well, but what'sthe use in telling on a fellow, and keeping track of the number ofsandwiches he eats? Suppose Phil did have a good appetite?

  "Oh, Phil!" cried his sister. "You don't mean to say you're going to eatmore; are you?"

  "I am if I can get 'em to eat," was his cool answer. "Some olives, too.You didn't, by any chance, I suppose, Helen, put another bottle in thatnever-failing basket of yours; did you?"

  "I certainly did," she answered with a laugh. "I knew you boys would behungry."

  "They're never otherwise," declared Ruth.

  "Cruel sister, to treat her little brother so," commented Phil, as heused the corkscrew on the bottle of olives, while Helen got out moresandwiches.

  There was a sudden pop, and the olive bottle cork came out sounexpectedly that Phil, who was kneeling down to perform that delicateoperation, went over backward, while Frank let out a cry of dismay.

  "My eye! Oh, my eye!" he exclaimed, holding his hand to his face.

  "What's the matter with it?" demanded Sid anxiously. "Did a piece ofcork get in it?"

  "No, but about a gallon of that olive juice did!" retorted the afflictedone, as he used his handkerchief vigorously. "You did that on purpose,Phil."

  "I did not. The cork came out before I was ready for it. I don't see whythey put 'em in so tight."

  "All right, only don't do it again," begged Frank. "Say, but it smarts!I wonder what olive juice is made of, anyhow. I mean the stuff they swimthe green fruit in."

  "Nothing but salt and water," declared Phil.

  "Nonsense. It's sulphuric acid, to say the least," declared Frank. "Itfeels so in my eye, anyhow. I wonder if they're French or Italianolives?"

  "What difference does it make?" asked Sid.

  "Lots. I never can bear French olives, and I wouldn't have the juice ofthem in my eye for anything."

  "Oh get out!" laughed Phil. "They're Italian all right. Pass the mustardfor the sandwiches, and let's get this over with."

  "I thought you liked it," spoke his sister.

  "So I do, but if any more accidents happen I'll lose my appetite." Andso the merry lunch went on.

  The May walk was a great success--at least so nearly every one voted.If there were some who had little heart-burnings it was but naturalperhaps, and they would not last long. Miss Philock was at her best, andallowed the girls under her charge more than the usual liberties.There was more or less formality connected with the affair, and somenote-taking in regard to the flora encountered along the way wasrequired. But it was, in most cases, the very smallest minimum thatwould serve to get the necessary class marks.

  The lunches had been eaten, and the boys and girls strolled about thegrove. Madge had not been near her chums all day, and they felt itkeenly, though from a distance she had gaily waved her hand to them. Theboys had rather lost interest in the identity of her companion.

  "Oh, Phil," called Helen to her escort as she saw a pretty flowergrowing on a woodland bank. "Get that for me, please. Look out forthorns, though."

  "A-la-Miss Benson?" asked Phil, referring to Tom's escapade with thepretty girl.

  "Yes," assented Helen with a laugh and a blush. And then, as she lookedat a stone at her feet she screamed.

  "What is it?" cr
ied Phil, scrambling down the bank with such haste thathe slipped, and rolled nearly half the distance. "Did you sprain yourankle?"

  "No, but it's a horrid snake!"

  She pointed to a little one, not bigger than an angle worm.

  "Pooh!" sneered Phil. "It's lost its mamma, that's all. You shouldn'tscare the poor thing so by screaming."

  "Ugh! The horrid thing!" said Helen with a shudder, as Phil tossed thesnake gently into the bushes. "I can't bear anything that crawls."

  Then Phil, brushing the dirt from his new trousers, made another andsuccessful attempt to get the flower. And so the day went on.

  Back in his room Tom straightened up, and looked from the window. Theafternoon was waning, and already long shadows athwart the campus toldof the setting sun.

  "Well!" he said aloud. "I might as well go out and walk about. They'llbe back pretty soon, and then----" he shrugged his shoulders. "What'sthe use?" he asked himself, apropos of nothing in particular.

  Some whim prompted him to board a car going in the direction ofFairview. The May walk he knew would be over by this time, save perhapsfor a few stragglers. And he hoped--yet what did he hope?

  Tom found himself walking through the little grove where the boys andgirls of the college had eaten lunch a few hours before. The placeseemed deserted now, though now and then a distant laugh told of somelate-staying couple. The sun was almost down, sending golden-red shaftsof light slanting through the newly-leafing trees.

  Tom turned down a deserted path of beach trees. He walked on, notheeding his course until, as he neared a cross-trail, he heard voices.There was the soft tones of a girl, and the deeper rumble of a youth.Tom stepped back behind a sheltering trunk, and only just in time, forthe couple suddenly stepped into view.

  "Hasn't it been a perfect day?" asked the youth.

  "Yes--almost," was his companion's rather indifferent answer.

  "Why not altogether, Miss Tyler?"

  Tom started at this. He peered from behind the big beach.

  "Oh, nothing is perfect in this world," was the laughing answer.

  The sun, suddenly dipping down, struck clearly on the faces of thecouple. Tom saw them, and his lips formed a name.

  "Shambler! That's whom she meant when she said she could not go with me.Shambler!"

  The couple passed on, and Tom stood there looking at them, his handsclenched so that the nails deeply indented his palms.

  "Shambler!" he murmured. "Shambler!"