CHAPTER XVII
ONE BLOW IS PARRIED.
Foote was fairly well satisfied with the result of his plot so far as it had gone. But, as a matter of fact, Dick Merriwell, by his determination to do what was right, no matter what it cost him, had defeated one, and the most important, of the junior’s objects. He had wanted to be able to prove that Dick, rather than risk the defeat of the baseball nine, had failed to reveal knowledge that he had obtained of cheating in an examination. And Dick had made this impossible. There were other things, too, unknown to Foote, that would have worried him a good deal had he been aware of them.
Dick had not gone to the dean immediately upon his return to New Haven. He had gone to his own room first to think the matter over. And, the more he thought, the more unlikely it seemed to him that his suspicions were correct. He felt that he had not really given Taylor a chance to explain. He had told the senior catcher nothing of his suspicions, and Sam might, as a result, have felt justified in refusing to answer certain questions that he would otherwise have replied to without hesitation. So he had sent for Taylor and told him the whole story.
Taylor took the paper Dick had found, and then, after examining it closely, had laughed.
“This is a fake, Mr. Merriwell,” he said. “And, what’s more, I think my paper will show that I couldn’t have used this. If I’d had this with me, I could have passed a perfect examination, and, as a matter of fact, I’ll be lucky if I get through at all. That’s one thing. Another is that this is not in my writing. Look here.”
He wrote his name hastily a dozen times on a piece of paper, and Dick, comparing the writing with that on the crib, saw that Taylor was right.
“Look here!” cried Taylor suddenly. He was a shrewd, clever fellow, really, and his mind had been hard at work. “There are a whole lot of people here who don’t like me any more. Men I used to go with that I’ve dropped since that business that Harding got me to go into. Don’t you think it’s possible that they’ve planted this evidence against me?”
“It’s certainly possible,” said Dick thoughtfully. “Suppose we go over together and see the dean? He ought to be at his house by this time.”
Taylor agreed, readily enough. But the dean was not at home. They were told that some extra work had compelled him to stay late at his office, to which place they hastened.
The dean heard their curious story with interest. Then, smiling, he picked up a letter.