“It was great—couldn’t have been better,” declared Frank Simpson. “There is only one regret.”
“What’s that?” asked Phil.
“About that charge against me. I don’t say anything about Shambler, for he admitted his guilt. But I know I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We’ll forget Shambler,” suggested Tom. “I guess he’s vanished.”
“But I would like to have a ruling on my case,” went on Frank. “I think it sort of stands as a black mark against Randall. I don’t see why that A. A. U. committee doesn’t answer.”
There was a moment of silence. No one seemed to know what to say. The alarm clock ticked off the seconds. Tom was sprawled out on the sofa, with Phil crowding him. In the armchairs were Frank and Sid. There came a knock on the door.
“Who’s there?” demanded Tom.
“A telegram for Mr. Simpson,” announced Wallops.
The Big Californian leaped for the portal, and swung it open. In an instant he had snatched the yellow envelope, and torn it open. Rapidly he scanned the message:
“Wow! Hurray!” he shouted.