“Is that all?” asked Varrell.

Melvin examined again. “Everything.”

“I’m afraid he couldn’t pass English A,” said Varrell.

They walked for some minutes in silence, Melvin too much disgusted with his companion’s flippancy to speak.

“If you can talk seriously, I’d like to ask you something,” he said at length; “but I don’t want any more nonsense.”

“I’m serious,” replied Varrell, gravely.

“What do you think of it? Will they take it or not?”

“I’m afraid it’s no good,” said Varrell. “What they want is evidence complete and certain, that can’t be dodged or questioned or denied. This is proof only to those who will accept its authority; it isn’t what they call irrefragable.”

Melvin groaned. “You might at least have spared me a word like that.”

The grin stole back upon Varrell’s face. Melvin turned away indignant and disheartened.

Varrell clutched the stern-faced youth by the arm. “Dick, don’t go off mad! I’m not so useless as I seem. Come up to the room and let me show you something.”

Ten minutes later, the athletic manager came plunging down the stairs four steps at a time, his face aglow with smiles, his whole being radiant with the joy that follows a long-borne disappointment, as the sun comes forth more glorious after slow dark days of northeast storm.

“The old rascal!” he muttered; “the shrewd old foxy rascal! and he’s had the thing in his pocket all day! I felt like kicking him and hugging him at the same time. If I could only have a try at the high jump now! Couldn’t I do six feet!”

Two flights down, across the yard, two flights up! He found Dickinson with his nose in a dictionary of antiquities, packing away learning by the cubic inch. The nose came out in a trice; when it went back, a good half hour afterward, it had lost somewhat the keenness of its scent for facts, and the two eyes above it gleamed bright and determined. Thence the manager hied him home to bed, and slept nine solid, refreshing hours.

The official student representative on the Hillbury-Seaton athletic committee was the captain of the team. As Dickinson was naturally excluded from the discussion by the fact that his own name was under protest, Melvin was to take his place. He was accompanied to the station by Curtis and Varrell.

“Rub it in if you get the chance,” said Curtis, savagely. “It’s one of their tricks; don’t spare ’em.”

“I hope you’ll do no such thing,” said the pacific Varrell. “It wouldn’t be either courteous or safe. I believe they’re quite square about the thing; and you must assume that they are, anyway, even if you think differently.”

“I agree with you,” said Dick, thoughtfully. “The advertisement certainly gives a very strong ground for suspicion, and our case isn’t so sure that we can afford to stir up any unpleasant feelings.”

“The main thing is to go carefully and arouse as little opposition as possible,” continued Varrell. “Stick to the plan we laid out if you can.”

The train came roaring and clanking in.

“Don’t let ’em fool you, anyway,” said Curtis, giving a hard grip to the manager’s arm. “Come back victorious or we’ll lynch you.”

“And don’t play your trump card first,” added Varrell.

The meeting was held in Boston. The committee was composed of six members, one from the students, one from the faculty, and one from the alumni, of each school. Hillbury was represented by Professor Loder, Mr. Harkins, a shrewd lawyer, and Captain McGee of the Hillbury track team. For Seaton appeared besides Melvin, Mr. Pope to represent the faculty, and Dr. Brayton, a young Boston surgeon, who, with all the engagements and responsibilities of a busy practice, was still willing to undergo some sacrifice to serve his school. Mr. Pope was made chairman and Professor Loder secretary.

“Our business is to decide concerning the protest made by the Hillbury manager against Dickinson,” said the chairman. “I will read the protest and then ask Mr. Harkins, who is used to presenting cases in court, to make a statement of the charges.”

“I’m used to appearing as attorney, not as judge,” returned the lawyer, smiling. “Here we are acting in a judicial capacity.”

Dick studied the lawyer’s face as the protest was read, and came speedily to the conclusion that he should like Mr. Harkins less as judge than as attorney. The face was mobile and intelligent, yet something in its lines suggested unscrupulousness. Dick had but little time in which to gain this impression, for Mr. Harkins’s words, rather than his face, now received his whole attention.

“The charge, briefly stated, is that Dickinson has been associated with professional runners in an open race, contrary to the most fundamental rule of amateur athletics.”

“When and where?” inquired Dr. Brayton, turning to the Hillbury captain.

“On July fourth of last year, in Ralston, Indiana,” replied McGee, promptly.

“What is your source of information?”

“The advertisements. Mr. Harkins, will you kindly pass the poster to Dr. Brayton?”

It was a large-lettered notice, such as one frequently sees displayed in shop windows, announcing among other attractions a race for a prize of fifteen dollars, in which Smith, Doyle, Jackson, and “J. W. Dickinson, who holds many school and college records,” would compete.

The fateful poster passed from hand to hand about the table. Dick awaited his turn with curiosity, yet with a heavy sinking of the heart. Was it possible that this miserable sheet of coarse paper should have power to work so much harm?

“What answer does Dickinson make?” said Dr. Brayton, at length, turning to Melvin.

“He denies that he has ever run in any race in his life except in the Seaton and Hillbury contests,” answered Melvin, speaking with a little tremor in his voice, but yet composedly and coolly. “The advertisement was made without his consent or knowledge.”

“While it may seem invidious to question the sufficiency of a man’s word,” said Mr. Harkins, with a bland smile, “I think you gentlemen will all agree with me that we should be false to our duty if we accepted Mr. Dickinson’s unsupported denial as a conclusive answer to the protest.”

“Of course,” replied Dr. Brayton, promptly. “The only question is where the burden of proof lies.”

“On the defendant, I should say very positively,” said Professor Loder. “We are striving to maintain our contests on such a high plane that not a breath of suspicion can be cast on the amateur standing of any one who competes in them. This advertisement has thrown serious doubts on the eligibility of Dickinson for the school sports. It is for him to clear himself of suspicion.”

A moment’s silence followed before Mr. Harkins spoke again: “If I may be allowed another word, I should like to add that the principle to be followed is not the maxim of the criminal courts,—‘It is better that nine guilty men escape rather than that one innocent man should suffer,’—but the famous direction of President Grant, ‘Let no guilty man escape!’ Less harm is done by barring five unfairly than by allowing one to compete who has forfeited his privilege.”

“You and I were not so sure about that twenty years ago,” said Dr. Brayton, with a smile. “If you displace a man unjustly, you interfere with the equality of the representation, and the contests are again unfair. What we are after here is the facts in the case. We all agree that this poster raises a reasonable doubt as to the eligibility of Dickinson. Is this all we are to know about it?”

“Mr. Melvin has some counter evidence to put in,” said the chairman.

Dick awoke with a start. He had been so much absorbed in following the argument of the older members of the committee that he had for the moment forgotten the task devolving on him.

“I think I ought to say,” remarked Melvin, as he drew from his pocket the illiterate missive of Michael Ryan, “that this protest was entirely unexpected, and we were allowed a very short time in which to prepare a defence. If we had not heard of it by chance a day or two before the notice came, we should have had absolutely nothing to offer.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” said Professor Loder, looking sharply at McGee. “That seems unfair.”

“We didn’t find it out until late,” said McGee, reddening, “and then we had to call a meeting.”

“We wrote to Ralston immediately,” continued Melvin, “and have received this certificate from the manager of the athletic sports referred to in the poster. If there had been more time, we should probably have more letters to present.”

He handed the scrawl to the chairman, who gave it a glance and passed it to Dr. Brayton. The latter smiled over it and handed it to his neighbor. So it developed smiles as it went the round until all were smiling except Dick, whose face was purple with confusion, but bitterly stern.

“I’d like to see this put in as evidence in a court of law,” chuckled Mr. Harkins. “It bears neither date nor attestation, concerns one Dickson, not Dickinson, and gives no hint as to Michael’s authority.”

“I shouldn’t wonder if Michael could explain himself if he were here,” said Dr. Brayton, thoughtfully.

“You certainly wouldn’t give weight to an indefinite unauthenticated certificate like that!” protested Mr. Harkins.

“Yes, if I were convinced that it represented a genuine attempt to give the information we ask,” replied Dr. Brayton. “I don’t know whether to take this seriously or not.”

“What evidence should you consider sufficient to disprove the charge?” asked Mr. Pope, turning to Mr. Harkins. Dick gave the teacher a grateful look; it was the question he wanted to ask.

“Why—er—” Mr. Harkins was momentarily at a loss; his interest was all on the negative side. “Why, any trustworthy record of the day’s events which showed that Dickinson did not take part.”

“There probably was no official report,” Dick ventured to say.

“Well, any definite statement by reliable people who were in a position to know,” said Professor Loder.

“A newspaper report of the day’s events, perhaps?” suggested Dick, trying to control his eagerness.

“Yes, if it were definite,” assented the professor.

“Well, here is a paper published in Ralston on the sixth of July, and while it describes the games and names the contestants, it makes no mention of Dickinson.”

Dr. Brayton took the paper and examined the passage carefully, then turned it over to Professor Loder and Mr. Harkins, who put their heads together over it. At length the lawyer looked up with a gracious smile, and said in his smoothest judicial tones:—

“I am sorry, Mr. Melvin, but this is by no means conclusive. Certain names of contestants are given, with their places at the finish, but there is nothing here to prove that Dickinson did not start and fall so far behind as not to finish. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I should hardly feel justified myself in accepting this negative evidence as confuting the plain statement of the poster.”

“Then the report of the proceedings would prove nothing after all,” said Dick, bitterly. “Professor Loder has just said that the newspaper report would be sufficient.”

“It would,” replied Mr. Harkins, with forbearance, “if it had contained the plain statement that Dickinson did not run.”

“Is that your idea, too?” asked Dick, turning to Professor Loder. The boy’s heart was fluttering, his hands and knees shook under the table, but his voice was steady, and for this he felt unspeakably grateful.

“Certainly,” said Professor Loder, with some sharpness in his voice. “We do not demand the impossible. If the newspaper had stated that Dickinson did not run, there would be nothing more to say.”

“Then there is nothing more to say,” declared Dick, leaping to his feet in his eagerness to relieve the nervous tension which had been growing more and more acute as the discussion went on. “Here is the Ralston Chronicle, which makes that very statement.”

Mr. Harkins seized the paper and studied the black-lined passage with evident chagrin. He was still studying, not wholly hopeless of a flaw, when Professor Loder, after looking over the lawyer’s shoulder at the paragraph, said: “Yes, that seems to settle it; the protest must be withdrawn. I am sorry, however, that you could not have been more frank with us.”

Dick flushed deep red. “I hope, sir, you don’t think I’ve taken an underhand course. I only meant to make sure that the newspaper statement would be accepted as sufficient evidence. You see, sir, I am positive that Dickinson is innocent, because I know him and trust him, but I couldn’t tell how the evidence would appeal to others.”

“And so you committed us first and then put in the evidence,” said Dr. Brayton. “The fact is, Professor Loder, that the great danger in these discussions lies, not in any difference in ideals, but in the vagueness of our notions as to what constitutes proof of guilt or innocence. I am inclined to think Mr. Melvin’s method has tended to bring us sooner to an agreement.”

Professor Loder made no reply. The Chronicle passed slowly around the table. Mr. Harkins conceived some new plan, and returned to the discussion.

“To tell the truth, I don’t like this kind of evidence,” he began, solemnly.

Professor Loder gave him a look of disapproval. “I don’t see how you can honestly object to it. It is of the same kind as that of the poster, but much more definite and authoritative.”

The words brought a glint of gratitude and respect into the Seaton manager’s eyes. It was apparent that there were fair and honest men in the Hillbury Faculty as well as at Seaton.

“Is this the only case cited under the charge?” asked Mr. Harkins, turning with impatience to McGee.

“The only one I know of,” answered the lad. Mr. Harkins relapsed into ill-humored silence.

“Am I then to assume that we have reached a definite conclusion?” asked the chairman.

“I move that the committee report itself satisfied as to the groundlessness of the charges, and that the Hillbury manager be given leave to withdraw the protest,” said Professor Loder, promptly.

The motion was put and unanimously carried. The meeting broke up. Mr. Harkins alleged important business, offered a general farewell, and hurriedly departed. Dick lingered to thank Professor Loder and Dr. Brayton for their courtesy and fairness, arranged with McGee a few details concerning the games, and then hastened to the telegraph office to send the joyful news ahead.

He was received by the boys that night as a victorious diplomat returning from an international Congress. The only circumstance to mar his complete happiness was the reluctance of the school to believe that Varrell, and Varrell alone, deserved the credit for securing the evidence and for the successful presentation of it.