CHAPTER XXVIII
VINDICATION
Joe fairly staggered back, so startled was he by the words of theDean--and, not only the words, but the manner--for the Dean was solemn,and there was a vindictiveness about him that Joe had never seen before.
"Why--why, what do you mean?" gasped Joe. "I never put the red paint onthe steps!"
"No?" queried the Dean coldly. "Then perhaps you can explain how thispot of red paint came to be hidden in your closet."
"My closet!" cried Joe, and at once a memory of the crimson stain on hiscoat came to him. "I never----"
"Wait," went on the Dean coldly. "I will explain. It is not altogethercircumstantial evidence on which I am accusing you. The information cameto me--anonymously I regret to say--that you had some red paint in yourcloset. The spoiling of the valuable manuscripts was such an offencethat I decided to forego, for once, my objection to acting on anonymousinformation. I did ignore one letter that accused you----"
"Accused me!" burst out Joe, remembering the incident in chapel.
"Yes. But wait, I am not finished. I had your room examined in yourabsence, and we found--this." He held up a pot of red paint.
"I had the paint on the steps analyzed," went on the Dean. "It is ofexactly the same chemical mixture as this. Moreover we found where thispaint was purchased, and the dealer says he sold it to a student, but hewill not run the risk of identifying him. But I deem this evidenceenough to bar you from athletics, though I will not expel or punishyou."
Barred from athletics! To Joe, with the baseball season approaching thechampionship crisis, that was worse than being expelled.
"I--I never did it!" he cried.
"Do you know who did, if you did not?" asked the Dean.
Like a flash it came to Joe. He could not tell. He could not utter hissuspicions, though he was sure in his own heart that Weston was theguilty one--the twice guilty one, for Joe was sure his enemy had put thepaint in the closet to direct suspicion to him.
"Well?" asked the Dean, coldly.
"I--I have nothing to say," faltered Joe.
"Very well. You may go. I shall not make this matter public, except toissue the order barring you from athletics."
Without a word Joe left. Inside of an hour it was noised all over thecollege that he could not pitch against Princeton, and great was theregret, mingled with anxiety.
"What in thunder is up?" asked Captain Hatfield, as he sought out Joe.
"Nothing."
"Oh, come off! Can't you tell?"
"No," answered Joe, and that was all he would say.
Joe did not go to the Yale-Princeton game. Yale won. Won easily, thoughhad Weston, who pitched, not been ably supported the story might havebeen a different one.
"One scalp for us," announced Spike.
"Yes," assented Joe gloomily.
"Oh, you get out!" cried Spike. "I'm not going to stand for this. You'vegot to keep in form. There's no telling when this thing will all comeout right, and you want to be in condition to pitch. You and I will keepup practice. The Dean can't stop you from that."
Nor did he try, and, though Joe was hard to move at first, he soonconsented to indulge in pitching practice with his chum. And then lifeat Yale went on much as before, though Joe's heart was bitter. Heseldom saw Weston, who was again first choice for 'varsity pitcher.
Weston did fairly well, too, though some games Yale should have won shelost. But it was to Princeton that all eyes turned, looking for thecollege championship. Could Yale win the next contest?
The answer was not long delayed. Two weeks later the bulldog invaded thetiger's lair and was eaten up--to the end of his stubby tail. Yalereceived the worst beating in her history.
"And it's up to Weston!" declared Spike savagely, when he came back fromPrinceton. "He was absolutely rotten. Went up in the air first shot, andthey got seven runs the first inning. Then it was all over but theshouting, for Avondale and McAnish couldn't fill in the gap. Oh, Joe, ifyou could only pitch!"
"But I can't."
"You've just got to! Yale has a chance yet. It's a tie now for thechampionship. The deciding game will be played on the New York PoloGrounds in two weeks. You've got to pitch!"
"I don't see how I can."
"Well, I'm going to!" and Spike strode from the room, his face ablazewith anger and firm with determination.
It seems that one of the janitors about the college had a son who was anepileptic. The lad was not badly afflicted and was able, most of thetime, to help his father, sometimes doing the cleaning at one of thestudent clubs.
It was to this club that Spike went when he burst out of his room,intent on finding, in some fashion, a way of vindicating Joe, for he wasfirm in his belief that Joe was innocent in spite of the silence.
There had been rain the night before, and on a billboard adjoining theclub room some of the gaudy red and yellow posters, announcing the finalYale-Princeton game, had been torn off.
Hardly knowing what he was doing, Spike picked up part of a sheet,colored a vivid red. At that moment, from the side entrance, Charlie,the janitor's son, came out, and Spike, who had often given him oddtasks to do, and who felt sorry for the afflicted one, playfully thrustthe red paper at him, saying:
"Here, Charlie, take it home, and let your little sister cut out somepaper dolls."
He slapped the paper on the lad's hand, and being damp and pasty itstuck there, like a splotch of blood.
Charlie shrank back, cowering and frightened, whimpering like a child,and mumbling:
"Don't! Oh, don't Mr. Poole. Don't put that on me. I--I can't bear it.It's been haunting me. I'll tell all I know. The red paint--I put itthere. But he--he made me. Some of it got on my hand, and I wiped itoff on his coat. Oh, the blood color! Take it away. I--I can't standit!"
"What's that?" fairly yelled Spike. "Red paint? Here, tell me all youknow! Jove, I begin to see things now!"
"Take it off! Take it off!" begged Charlie, and he trembled so thatSpike feared he would have a seizure.
"There--there--it's all right," he said soothingly. "I'll take it off,"and he removed the offending paper. "Now you come with me, and tell meall about it," he went on quietly. And Charlie obeyed, like a child.
A little later Spike was closeted with the Dean, taking Charlie withhim, and when they came out Joe's room-mate said:
"Then the ban is removed, sir?"
"Certainly, Poole," replied the Dean, "and I will make a publicexplanation in the morning. I am very sorry this occurred, and I deeplyregret it. But circumstances pointed to him, and I felt I had to act.Never again, though, shall I place any faith in an anonymous letter.Yes, everything will be all right. If Matson had only spoken, though!"
"It's just like him not to," said Spike.