"Well, that isn't much that's new," went on Joe, as he took the college paper which Jimmie held out to him. "It was known before that the parchments were pretty well on the blink. It's a shame, too, for they are the only ones in the world of that particular dynasty. What else?"

"Lots," went on Jimmie. "The _News_ hints that a committee of Seniors is working with Professor Hardee and some of the faculty, trying to find out who was responsible. If they do find out they may make the joker's folks pay heavy damages."

"Yes, if they find out," put in Spike. "But it happened some time ago, and they haven't got a hint of it yet. It was a mean trick--I'll say that--but there are no welchers or squealers at Yale."

"I'm not so sure of that," murmured Jimmie.

"What do you mean?" asked Joe quickly.

"Why this screed goes on to hint that the investigators have a line on who did it. They have some clews, it seems, and an exposure is hinted at."

"Get out!" cried Joe, thinking of the effect it would have on Weston should the truth--as Joe thought it--come out. He had half made up his mind to deny everything he had seen, even if questioned.

"That's right," a.s.serted Jimmie. "This article says it may soon be known who did the 'dastardly deed'--note the 'dastardly'--guess the editor dipped his pen in sulphuric acid. But it was a mean trick, and I guess we all feel the same way about it. The fellow who did it ought to be fired. Fun is fun, and I like it as much as anybody, but this pa.s.ses the limits."

"Right!" exclaimed Spike. "But does it say anything about who it might be--what cla.s.s?"

"Oh, it as much as says a Freshman did it, of course--as if we did everything last year. Anyhow, it's stirred up a lot of talk, I can tell you. I just came across the campus and the _News_ sold more copies than ever before, I guess. Everyone seems to have one, and they're all talking about it. I hope if they do find out who did it, that he won't happen to be any of our crowd--or on the ball nine."

"Why?" asked Spike.

"Why--he'd be expelled, of course, and if it was one of the 'varsity nine it might have a bad effect on winning the championship. We've got to win that this year."

"Oh, I guess it's mostly talk," a.s.serted Spike, as he read the article after Joe had finished. As for Joe he said little. But he thought much.

"Maybe," agreed Jimmie. "And yet it looks as if there was something back of it all. I only hope there isn't. It would be tough for our cla.s.s to have to stand for this."

There was more talk along the same line, and, a little later, some other of the second-year cla.s.s dropped in and continued the session. There were differences of opinion, as might have been expected.

"Well, after all is said and done," came from Bert Fost, who by reason of weight was ineligible for the nine, but who was an enthusiastic supporter, "when it's all over, I think we'll wipe Amherst off the map."

"We will--if the nine isn't broken up," declared Jimmie.

"Broken up--what do you mean?" and Bert glared at the questioner.

"I mean that if it's proved that some member of the team did this red paint business it's all off with him having a chance to play against Amherst."

"Oh, piffle!" declared Bert. "That punk is written by some lad who's trying to make good on the _News_ so he'll get tapped for Scroll and Keys. Forget it."

But it was not so easily forgotten, for the article seemed to have some definite knowledge behind it, and the editorial, though student-inspired, as all knew, was a sharp one.

"If it really is Weston I'm sorry for him," thought Joe, little thinking how near he himself was to danger.

There were new developments the next morning--a certain something in the air as the young men a.s.sembled for chapel told that there was about to be a break. And it came.

"Here comes the Dean!" the whisper went round, when the exercises were nearly over. "Something's going to be cut loose."

The Dean addressed the students. He began mildly, but soon he had almost worked himself up to a dramatic situation. In veiled terms he referred to the red paint outrage, and then, after telling what it meant to have the valuable ma.n.u.scripts ruined, he added:

"I a.s.sume that you have all seen the article which appears in the college paper. With that, though I might, I take no issue. On another phase I do.

"I have received an anonymous letter, accusing a certain student of the outrage. I shall, in this matter, take the course I always do when I receive such a cowardly communication as an anonymous letter--I destroy it unread," and, as he spoke the Dean tore into fragments a piece of paper. The pieces he carefully put in his pocket, however, with the remark that they would be consigned to the fire unlooked at, as soon as possible.

"I wonder who was accused?" said Spike.

"I wonder?" added Joe.

CHAPTER XX

THE CORNELL HOST

"That's the way to do it!"

"Yale always can do it!"

"Bull dog grit!"

"The blue always wins!"

"They came--they saw--but--we conquered!"

It was the close of the Yale-Amherst baseball game, and the sons of Eli had gloriously triumphed. They had trailed the banners of their opponents in the dust, they had raced around the bases, they had batted the ball into the far corners of the field, and they had raced home with the runs.

"I told you so!" chirped Jimmie Lee.

"Hold on!" cried Slim Jones. "Didn't you start to be a calamity howler, and say Yale wouldn't win?"

"Never!" a.s.serted Jimmie.

"Yes, you did!"

"Well, I was only bluffing. I knew we could put it all over them."

"And we did," said Spike in a low voice to Joe. "Only----"

"Only I didn't have much share in it," interrupted the aspirant for pitching honors.

There had indeed been a "shake-up" on the nine the day of the game.

Until the last moment it was not definitely settled who would pitch, and there were many rumors current. It lay between Joe, Weston, and McAnish, the left-handed one, and on the morning of the game--the first important one of the season for Yale--the newspapers had various guesses as to who would be the twirler.

Joe had hoped to go in at the start, but when the game was called, and Captain Hatfield submitted his list, it was seen that Weston had the coveted place.

"Well, old man, you're back where you belong," said Avondale to him, as the name was called. "I suppose now, that little matter, which you were speaking to me about, can drop?"

"It can--if I remain pitcher," answered Weston. "But I've got it all c.o.c.ked and primed to explode if I have to. I'm not going to sit tight and let some country whipper-snapper put it all over me."