CHAPTER XXII

CURIOSITY

Tom said nothing to either of his other chums about seeing Shambler in that rather lonely spot along the river. Nor did he tell Frank all the details of the little scene.

“If it’s all right, there’s no use making a fuss over it,” reasoned the pitcher, “and if there’s something wrong it isn’t up to me to bring it out. I’ll keep still about it.”

There were busy times at Randall now, for with the near approach of the day of the games, practice went on almost without let-up. Frank was in such shape that he declared he would jump, and he had also done so well in the weight throwing trials that it was decided to have him as one of the contestants for that event.

“Everybody do his best now!” urged Holly Cross, as he hustled the lads out on the field for practice one day. “Beat your own records, and then do even better next week.”

It was the final practice before the posting of the names of those who would take part, and though it was expected that there might be some changes, there were none of any moment. The same ones whom I have already mentioned were finally decided on to uphold the honor of Randall, though a few new lads were entered as emergency material, several of them developing into available contestants almost at the last minute.

“There’s going to be a slight change in the program,” remarked Kindlings to the crowd of boys when practice was about over. “We’re going to have a big hurdle race the day before the other games, and one or two events for the younger lads.”

“How’s that?” asked Tom.

“Well, after going over it all, the committees decided that there wouldn’t be time to run off all the events in one day, and so we decided to have a preliminary meet one afternoon a few days before the main one. Everyone seemed to like the idea, which was brought up by Exter, so we fell in with it. The hurdle race is always popular, and if we split up things, we’ll get two crowds instead of one, and make that much more money.”

“Good idea,” declared Frank. “Me for the hurdle.”

“Better save yourself for the main show,” warned Holly.

A meeting of the committees of arrangements from the four colleges was scheduled for the next afternoon, and, as Tom, and some of the other lads had time to spare they went with Holly, Kindlings, and the others of the committee to attend. The session was to be held at Exter.

“There’s Shambler,” remarked Phil, as with his chums and the others, they stood waiting for the trolley. “I wonder if he’s coming?”

“It’s a free country,” declared Frank. “We can’t stop him.”

“Hello, fellows,” greeted the new student, as he sauntered up. “Guess I’ll take in the show if you haven’t any objections.”

“No, come along,” invited Holly, for he realized that considerable depended on Shambler in the coming games.

“How’s the foot, Simpson?” went on the lad who had caused the mischief to Frank.

“Oh, it’s all right, practically. But that doesn’t mean that I want you to jump on my back again,” exclaimed the Big Californian, with a laugh.

“No danger,” promised Shambler. “I thought I’d like to size up some of these Exter lads, and see what sort of material we’ve got to go up against,” he explained to Kindlings, who nodded comprehendingly.

There were a number of lads from Boxer Hall, and several from Fairview on hand at Exter when the committee went into session. The meeting was held behind closed doors, and meanwhile those who had come as spectators strolled about over the Exter grounds.

“Some college all right,” admired Shambler, who was making himself very much at home all over the place.

“But it can’t come up to Randall, even if it is newer,” declared Phil. “You can’t make a college in a year or so.”

The Exter lads were sociably inclined, and made their guests informally welcome. There was talk among the representatives of the four institutions about the coming games.

“Is that lad one of your contestants?” asked an Exter youth of Tom, who at the time was standing off by himself.

“Which one?” inquired the tall pitcher.

“Shambler, I think he calls himself,” and the new student was pointed out.

“Oh, yes, that’s Shambler,” replied Tom. “He’s going in the mile run for us. We’re counting a lot on him. But why do you say he ‘calls’ himself Shambler?” and Tom’s old suspicions at once recurred to him. “Isn’t that his name?”

“Yes, as far as I know. I wasn’t just certain of it, that’s all. So he’s going to run for you? Do you know much about him--where he came from?”

“Harkness, I believe. Why, do you know him?”

Tom was somewhat impressed by the curiosity of the Exter student.

“I think I have seen him before,” was the slow and rather puzzling reply. “But maybe I’m mistaken. You’re going to take part; aren’t you?”

“Well, I’m a sort of filler-in,” laughed Tom. “Baseball is my strong point.”

“Same here. I’m glad to have met you. Maybe we’ll have some fun on the diamond after these games.”

“Maybe,” and Tom turned aside, with the intention of joining his chums. As he did so he saw the Exter lad, who had introduced himself as Hal Durkin, link arms with another youth from his own college. Tom could not help overhearing what they said.

“Did you learn anything?” asked the lad who had joined Durkin, and who, Tom learned later, was Jack Pendleton.

“Not much. He goes by the name Shambler now, but I’m almost sure he’s the same fellow.”

“You are? Then this thing has got to be looked into. We’re not going up against any such game as that. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“I should say not!” agreed Durkin. “But we must go slow. It wouldn’t do to make a mistake.”

“I should say not. There’d be a pretty muddle if we did. But I’m sure I’m right, though I’m going to get more information before I say anything. Come on over, and we’ll talk to some of the fellows about it.”

“Now I wonder what in the world is up?” mused Tom. “They were certainly talking about Shambler, and from what they said it seems as if that wasn’t his name. I wonder if there can be anything wrong? Jove! I hope not, for the sake of Randall. And yet what could it be? Maybe he isn’t the best kind of a character, but that can’t make any difference in his standing as an athlete. If these Exter fellows are as squeamish as that, it’s time we knew it.”

Almost unconsciously Tom found himself defending the lad for whom he had felt such a dislike, not long since. Perhaps the little talk with Madge Tyler had made a change in our hero.

“Well, I won’t say anything about it,” decided the tall pitcher. “But I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”

The session of the joint committee was almost over when Sid, who had been strolling about, met Tom.

“I say,” began Sid, “I just had a sort of funny experience.”

“What kind?” asked Tom, wondering if Sid’s was anything like his own.

“Why some of these Exter fellows have been asking me questions about one of our lads, such as where he came from, what sort of a record he had, and all that.”

“They have?” cried Tom. “Was it about Shambler? Because if it was----”

“No, it wasn’t Shambler,” replied Sid. “Why, have you----”

“Who was it?” blurted out Tom.

“Frank Simpson,” was the unexpected reply. “Our own Frank.”

“What?” cried Tom, as if unwilling to believe it. “They wanted to know about Frank?”

“Yes, all about how long he’d been at Randall, where he came from, what his record was, and whether he was going to take part in the games.”

“What’d you tell ’em?”

“I said I didn’t know much about him, except that he came from Stanford University, where he was a crackerjack on the gridiron. I said he was going to pull down some points for us on the track, too.”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing, except that they thanked me, and I heard one of ’em say to the other that they were going to ‘look it up,’ whatever that meant.”

“Say!” cried Tom, “there’s something in the wind, Sid. I had almost the same experience, only it was about Shambler. I wonder what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, of course. I guess these Exter lads are so high-toned that they want to know a fellow’s pedigree before they’ll compete with him. Maybe he has to have ancestors that came over in the Mayflower, or else are D. A. R. or F. F. V. members.”

“Oh, get out!” cried Tom in protest. “What would the Daughters of the American Revolution, or the First Families of Virginia have to do with whether or not Exter lads would compete with us?”

“Well, I only mentioned it,” said Sid. “There’s something up, that’s sure. But it can’t be much. Frank is as straight as a string, and, while I think Shambler is a bit of a sport, no one can say anything about his abilities as an athlete. He’s one of the best in Randall.”

“I grant you that,” declared Tom, “but it’s mighty queer. We’ll keep still about it, and see what turns up.”

“Why, I had it in mind to tip Frank and Shambler off, that someone was making inquiries about them,” spoke Sid.

“Forget it,” advised his chum. “It will only raise a row. Just wait and see how it comes out. Then will be time enough to spring it, though for the life of me I can’t see what those Exter lads are going to ‘investigate,’ Sid.”

“Same here. Maybe they need a little investigating on their own account, though they seem like a nice class of fellows.”

Tom and Sid talked the matter over at some length, but could come to no conclusion. They decided not to mention to Phil what they had heard, though it was the first time they had kept a secret from their new chums.

To Tom and Sid, it seemed that there were many suspicious looks cast at Frank and Shambler on the part of more than one Exter lad, and yet, they agreed later, this might be only the effect of their imagination. The two lads, whose names had thus been so oddly brought up, were not, seemingly, aware of anything unusual.

The conference broke up, and Holly and Kindlings joined their friends from Randall.

“Well, it’s all settled,” announced Holly. “We’ll post the names day after to-morrow, of all those who will contest in the first event. Then after two days, to give a chance for protests, we’ll run off the big hurdle race. Later on all the names will be posted.”

“What’s that about a chance for protests?” asked Tom quickly.

“That’s the usual thing,” explained Kindlings. “The names have to be posted, and if any fellow wants to protest against another he has that right, and the committee will hear charges.”

“Do you think there’ll be any protests?” asked Sid, looking at Tom significantly.

“No. Why should there be?” inquired Holly quickly. “But the rules call for the posting of the names in that way, just the same. You don’t object; do you?”

“Not in the least. Say, that hurdle race ought to be sport,” and Sid thus changed the subject quickly.

“Well, Randall has a good chance for first prize,” declared Kindlings.