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Baseball Joe at Yale

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<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> <h3>THE ANONYMOUS LETTER</h3> “Have you seen the News?” gasped Jimmie Lee, bursting into the room of Joe and his chum one afternoon, following some baseball practice. “It’s great!” “You mean have we heard the news; don’t you?” questioned Spike. “You can hear news, but not see it, that is unless the occurrence which makes news happens to come under your own observation. Where is your logic, you heathen? Seen news!” “Yes, that’s what I mean!” snapped Jimmie. “I mean have you seen the last copy of the Yale News?” “No; what is it?” asked Joe quickly. “Something about the baseball nine?” “No, it’s about those musty old manuscripts that got spoiled the time Professor Hardee slipped on his doorsteps in the red paint.” “What about ’em?” demanded Joe, thinking of the time he had seen Weston slipping into his[165] room, trying to conceal his hand on which was a scarlet smear. “What’s new?” “Why, it seems that some learned high-brow society wrote on to borrow them, to prove or disprove something that happened in the time of Moses, and they had to be refused as the sheepskins are illegible. The powers that be tried to clean off the paint, but it took some of the lettering with it, and Prof. Hardee and some of his friends are wild over the loss. The News says it’s irreparable, and there’s even an editorial on it.” “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. [166] “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,” asserted 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 passes the limits.” “Right!” exclaimed Spike. “But does it say anything about who it might be—what class?” “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. [167] “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,” asserted 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 class to have to stand for this.” There was more talk along the same line, and, a little later, some other of the second-year class 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.” [168] “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 assembled 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 manuscripts ruined, he added: “I assume 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[169] 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. <hr class="chap" />[170] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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