There was a storm of hisses, but Holly stopped them with a wave of his hand.
“And when I say that, I do not in the least mean to reflect on Mr. Simpson’s word,” said Wallace courteously. “I think he forgets, that is all, and I will proceed to give the facts. It is no pleasure to do this,” he went on, “but duty very seldom is pleasant.”
“Go ahead, old man, don’t mind me,” said Frank with a smile. “My conscience is clear. I think you’re mistaken—that’s all.”
“I wish I was,” replied the Exter lad. “But I have information that you took part, as a professional, in some games held on the Fourth of July, three years ago, in a park outside of San Francisco, California. In particular you took part in a running race, and you were paid the sum of fifty dollars. The affair was for some hospital or other charity, and there were a number of other semi-professionals who took part in it. Do you deny that?”
For a moment several thought that Frank Simpson would collapse, so surprised was he. Then he braced himself by a strong effort, and tried to speak. For a second or two no words would come, and then, in a husky voice he said:
“Part of that is true, and part is not. I did take part in those games, but it was strictly as an amateur. I can prove that. I have never been a professional.”
“Isn’t it true that you won the mile run?” asked Wallace.
“Yes, I did.”