CHAPTER XXIX

BUCKING THE TIGER

"Hurray! Matson is going to pitch for us!"

"Get out! He's barred!"

"Not now. It's all off. He'll pitch against Princeton!"

"Where'd you hear it?"

"What's the matter with Weston?"

"Oh, he's gone--vamoosed--flew the coop. Couldn't stand the disgrace. It'll all be out in the morning."

Student meeting student on the campus, in dormitories, in the commons, at Glory's--anywhere in fact, passed these, and similar remarks.

"And to think you knew, all the while, that Weston put that red paint on the steps, and you wouldn't squeal!" cried Spike, clapping his chum on the shoulder.

"Would you?" asked Joe quietly.

"Well--er--now you have got me, old man! But it's all right. Come on out and celebrate."

And they celebrated as they never had before. Joe was given an ovation when he entered Glory's, and every member of the nine--substitutes and all--were there to do him honor. That is, all but Weston and De Vere. They had quietly taken themselves from Yale.

The explanation was simple. Weston had, as my readers know already, put the red paint on the professor's steps. He was not discovered, for Joe kept quiet. Then, when our hero was preferred as pitcher, in the bitterness of his heart, Weston planned to throw suspicion on him. He sent the first anonymous letter, though Avondale knew nothing of it. Then Weston took De Vere into his confidence and the two evolved the scheme of smuggling the pot of red paint, that Weston had used, into Joe's closet. The epileptic lad, Charlie, was the innocent medium, and once the paint was hidden Weston sent the second anonymous letter to the Dean, telling about it.

What happened is well known. Joe was accused, and would not inform on another to save himself. Perhaps it was the wrong thing to do--certainly he owed it to himself to have the right to vindication. I am not defending him, I am only telling of what happened.

Then came the dramatic episode, when Spike unwittingly brought out the truth from Charlie. It seems that the boy's conscience had been troubling him, for though Weston pretended it was only an innocent joke he was playing on Joe, the lad suspected something.

And so the full explanation was made to the Dean, and the latter, publicly, at chapel the next morning, begged Joe's pardon, and restored him to his full rights. As for Weston and De Vere, they were not in evidence. They had left Yale.

"Sharp practice from now on," ordered Mr. Hasbrook, when the excitement had quieted down somewhat. "We'll have to replace De Vere at right field, but otherwise the team will be the same as before. Matson, you'll pitch, of course."

"And he'll win for us, too!" cried Spike.

"I'm sure I hope so," went on the head coach. "Spike, if it wasn't so late in the season I'd let you catch. You deserve something for your share in this."

"Oh, I wouldn't think of catching now, though it would be great," declared Joe's chum. "Give me a chance next season."

"I sure will," said the head coach. "Get busy now, everybody. We've got to beat Princeton!"

"Oh, Joe, do you think we'll win?" asked Spike, half nervously, the night before they were to start for New York to meet their rivals.

"Win! Of course we'll win!" cried Joe, and though so much depended on him, he was the coolest member of the team.