“No, sir, I’m afraid not. My aunt lives alone except for the servants, and I saw no one I knew that evening. I will telegraph to my mother at once, and perhaps I will be able to get a letter from my aunt before Saturday. But it’s a pretty short time.”
“Produce your evidence any time before the two-mile race is called,” said the chairman, kindly, “and it will be all right. And, by the way, a telegram will answer as well as a letter, if your—er—aunt is in the West. I am anxious to help you in every way possible, and I regret that the duties of my office require me to be or—er—seem exacting. Another thing, Ware; the Athletic Association will incur all the expenses of telegraphing in this affair; and you need not—ah—spare money. Good morning.”
“Oh, it will be all right,” said Stearns, cheerfully, as they hurried together to the telegraph office. But Allan shook his head despondently.
“No, I’ve felt ever since yesterday that something would happen to ball things up. And now it’s happened. And I don’t believe I’ll hear from my aunt in time. However, I wouldn’t have got better than second place, anyway. But I did want to run,” he ended, dolorously.
“Nonsense! Cheer up! We’ll make the wires hum. We’ve got pretty near two whole days, and we can telegraph around the world fifty times in two days.”
The telegram asking for his aunt’s address was duly despatched to his mother in New Haven, and after that there was nothing left to do save wait her reply. Allan parted from Stearns and went dejectedly back to his room. There he found Pete engaged in a carouse with Two Spot. They wouldn’t let Pete practise with the shot to-day, or again before the meet, and he was feeling quite lost in consequence. Allan wanted some one to unfold his tale of woe to, and he was glad to find Pete awaiting him. Pete, as the story was told, grew very indignant, and offered to punch Professor Nast’s head. But Allan finally convinced him that the chairman of the Athletic Committee wasn’t at all to blame.
“It’s a beastly way to have things end, after you’ve been practising hard all spring,” he said, as he arose impatiently from his chair and strolled to the desk. A Latin book was lying on the blotter, with a slip of paper marking the page where Allan had been at work when Stearns appeared. Now he opened the book, crumpled the marker into a ball and tossed it disgustedly onto the floor. Then he drew up a chair and plainly hinted that he desired to study. Pete, however, refused to heed the hint.
“It’s a mighty foolish business,” he said, thoughtfully.