[CHAPTER XXXIII]
TOM’S RUN
“All right, Wallops, tell him I’ll be right over,” said Tom. “I’ll tell Kindlings where I’m going, so he won’t be looking for me. But I’ve got plenty of time before it’s my turn.”
He slipped on a heavy bathrobe, for, in his abbreviated running costume, he was not exactly in shape to go to the grandstand.
“The lawsuit must have gone against dad, or else he’s come to have me go back and testify,” reasoned Tom. “If he’s lost the case, it’s good-bye to Randall for me. But if he wants me to go to court, I’m going to ask him to wait until after the run. I’m not going to desert now. The case will have to wait. But I wonder why dad came, instead of telegraphing? It must be important. I hope nothing else can have happened.”
Anxious thoughts came to Tom, as he made his way through the press of people. His mother or sister might be ill. It was an inopportune time to receive bad news—almost on the instant of entering a race that meant so much to Randall. But Tom made up his mind to do his best under any circumstances.
“What’s up?” asked Frank, whom Tom passed on his way to see his father.
“My dad’s here,” was the reply. “He came unexpectedly. I don’t know what it means.”
Frank looked grave, for he knew on how slender a thread hung Tom’s chances. A moment later our hero saw his father waving his hand to him from his place beside the president of Randall. Dr. Churchill, and several members of the faculty, had come to the games, though Professor Emerson Tines refused to attend.
“Tom!” cried Mr. Parsons as he came down an aisle to meet his son. “I’m glad to see you, boy. You didn’t expect to find me here; did you?”
“No, dad. Is anything—anything wrong?” Tom could hardly frame the question. But a look at his father’s face told him that he need have nothing to fear—at least for the present.