[CHAPTER XVII]
SID KEEPS SILENT
Tom and Phil wished they could have been a witness to the scene which took place a little later in the study of Dr. Churchill. Not from mere motives of curiosity, but that they might, if possible, aid their chum. That he was in serious straits they well knew, for the rules of Randall (as indeed is the case at all colleges) were most stringent on the subject of liquor.
Poor Sid, led like a prisoner by the proctor, walked moodily up to the faculty residence, while Tom and Phil, with sorrow in their hearts, went to their room. Their grief was too deep and genuine to admit of discussion.
“You wished to see me?” inquired Dr. Churchill, coming out of his study into his reception room, as Sid and the proctor stood up to greet him, having previously sent in word by the servant. “Ha, what is it now?” and the venerable head of Randall looked over the tops of his spectacles at the two; the official, stern and unyielding, and the student with a puzzled, worried air, sorrowful yet not at all guilty. Dr. Churchill held a book and his finger was between the pages, as if he hoped soon to be able to go back and resume his reading at the place he had left off.
“I regret to announce that I have a most flagrant violation of the rules to report to you, Dr. Churchill,” began Mr. Zane.
“Another of my boys out late,” remarked the doctor, a half smile playing around his lips. “Well, of course that can’t be allowed, but I suppose he has some good excuse. He went to see about a challenge for a ball game, or it was so hot in his room that he couldn’t study,” and the president smiled, then, as he caught sight of a little blaze of logs in the fireplace of his reception room (for the evening was rather chilly), he realized that his latter explanation about a hot room would scarcely hold. And, be it said, Dr. Churchill was always looking for some excuse for indiscreet students, to the chagrin of the officious proctor.
“Doubtless a baseball matter took him out,” went on the president. “Of course we can’t allow that. Discipline is discipline, but if you will write out for me a couple of hundred lines of Virgil—by the way, you play at shortstop, don’t you?” and the doctor looked quizzically at Sid. The president had rather less knowledge of baseball than the average lady. “How is the eleven coming on, Mr. Henderson?”
The doctor tried to appear interested, but, for the life of him he never could remember whether baseball was played with nine, ten or a dozen men, albeit he attended all the championship games, and shouted with the rest when the team won. He wanted to appear interested now, however, and he was anxious to get back to his reading.