Mr. Parsons was an honored guest, and he proved himself to be imbued with the immortal spirit of youth, for he was like a lad again, capering about.
Bonfires were built, spreads innumerable were held, professors were serenaded, and forced to make congratulatory speeches. Even “Pitchfork,” had to come out to speak to the team, though he did not show very good grace. But dear old Dr. Churchill struck the right note, and was roundly cheered as he gracefully spoke of the victory of the “track eleven and the baseball racers.”
And so that night at Randall passed into honored and never-to-be-forgotten history.
They were in their room--the four inseparables. It was a few days after the great games, and the trophies indicating the championship of Randall had been placed in an honored place in the gymnasium. Also the tale of the victory had gone abroad to the world.
Tom’s father had returned home, to tell the details, the law case was a closed event. Now came talk--talk of what had been.
“It was great--couldn’t have been better,” declared Frank Simpson. “There is only one regret.”
“About that charge against me. I don’t say anything about Shambler, for he admitted his guilt. But I know I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We’ll forget Shambler,” suggested Tom. “I guess he’s vanished.”
“But I would like to have a ruling on my case,” went on Frank. “I think it sort of stands as a black mark against Randall. I don’t see why that A. A. U. committee doesn’t answer.”
There was a moment of silence. No one seemed to know what to say. The alarm clock ticked off the seconds. Tom was sprawled out on the sofa, with Phil crowding him. In the armchairs were Frank and Sid. There came a knock on the door.
“A telegram for Mr. Simpson,” announced Wallops.
The Big Californian leaped for the portal, and swung it open. In an instant he had snatched the yellow envelope, and torn it open. Rapidly he scanned the message:
“It’s good news! This is a telegram from the protest committee of the A. A. U. It says: ‘Your case, and others like it, ruled on some time ago. Settled you were strictly amateurs. Letter follows. You are eligible in all amateur contests.’ What do you think of that?” cried Frank, capering about. “I knew I was right.”