The Winning Touchdown: A Story of College Football

by Lester Chadwick

  CHAPTER XXII

  BASCOME DENIES

  Tom Parsons knocked vigorously on the door of Bert Bascome's room. Ifthe character of his summons was any indication of his mind, the bearerof the letter was in no mood for compromise. As soon as he had tapped atthe portal, there was audible within the apartment a hasty scramble.

  "Guess they must think it's Zane, or Prexy," mused Tom, grimly.He waited several seconds, and then came the gentle and somewhatsleep-simulated query:

  "Who's there?"

  "It's me--Parsons," was the ready, if ungrammatical, answer. "Are youthere, Bascome?"

  "Yes, of course. I thought it was one of the profs. It's all right,fellows--you can come out," and, as the door opened, Tom saw several ofBascome's friends crawling from under the bed and couch. There was asmell of cigarette smoke quite noticeable in the room.

  "Whew! You fellows are going some!" commented Tom. "You can smell thatall the way up to our room."

  "No! Can you really?" asked Bascome, in some alarm. "We opened all thewindows, and we fan the smoke out regularly every ten minutes; don't we,fellows?"

  "Sure," replied Merkle, one of the sportiest of sporty seniors. "It'sregular bore to think we have to sneak around this way when we wantto smoke. Why, in some big colleges, I understand, they allow theundergraduates to smoke in their rooms, and even the tutors have a pipewith them."

  "Pity this isn't a big college," remarked Bascome, as he lighted anothercigarette. "I suppose I oughtn't to do this when I'm in training," hewent on easily, "but you won't squeal, will you, Parsons? Have a cig.yourself?"

  "No, thank you. May I see you just a moment, Bascome?"

  Tom had not thought to find anyone in the room save the left tackle, andhe hardly knew how, under the circumstances, to put his question.

  "Sure," answered Bascome. "Anything about football? Because if itis----"

  "It isn't," answered Tom, quickly.

  "Oh, then, come on out. Excuse me just a moment, fellows," he said tohis guests, as he followed our hero out into the corridor. "I hope itisn't spondulix, old man," he went on. "I'd let you have some in amoment, but I'm dead broke, and----"

  "I don't need any money!" broke in Tom, half angrily. "Look here,Bascome, were you in our room to-day--after the football game?"

  "In your room? Certainly not, either before the game or after it. Whatdo you mean?"

  "Well," went on Tom, "there have been some queer things happeninglately. Our old chair was taken--for a joke, I presume, and----"

  "Do you mean to accuse me of having a hand in that?" demanded Bascome,indignantly. "If you do, Parsons----"

  "Take it easy," advised Tom, calmly. "I haven't accused you of anythingyet. I merely asked you if you had been in our room."

  "But why do you do that? What makes you think I was in there?"

  "Because I found this there--after we came back from the game thisafternoon," went on the end. "It's a letter addressed to you, and Ithought maybe you had dropped it."

  Tom held out the missive, but, before taking it, Bascome, with a glanceof anger at his companion, said cuttingly:

  "Look here, Parsons, I don't know what your game is, but I think you'reconfoundedly insulting. Now, before I look at that letter, I want tosay, in the strongest way I know how, that I was _not_ in your roomto-day, nor any other day lately. In fact, I haven't been there since alot of us fellows were talking over football matters with you and Philand Sid one evening."

  "Yes, I remember that time," spoke Tom. "Well, I believe you, of course.Here's the letter. It's mighty queer, though."

  Bascome gave one glance at the missive, and murmured:

  "Lenton! I wonder what he's writing about now. That fellow's off hisbase, I think."

  As he read the note, a scowl came over his face, and he mutteredsomething that Tom could not catch. However, the end did hear Bascomesay:

  "Insolent puppy! He's got nerve to write to me that way! I'll have itout with him!"

  Then, with rapid motions, Bascome tore the letter to pieces, andscattered them about the corridor.

  "It doesn't throw any light on the mystery that has been bothering youfellows, about your clock and chair," went on the tackle. "I had somedealings with Lenton, and this was about that."

  "I didn't ask to know what was in the letter," said Tom, quickly. "Theonly funny part of it was that it was in our room. I thoughtperhaps----" he hesitated.

  "Oh, don't make any bones about it," urged his fellow player. "You mightas well say it as think it. You imagined I had been in there, playingsome sort of a joke on you."

  "Yes, I did," admitted Tom. "Our clock was returned mysteriouslyto-night, and the one left in its place was taken away. The other nightwe found a false key in our door, and now----"

  "Now you find a letter addressed to me!" interrupted Bascome. "I don'tblame you for thinking it a bit queer, old man, but I'm not in the game.I've got other fish to fry. The way I suppose my letter got in youfellows' room, is that Wallops, or some of the messengers to whom Lentongave it to be delivered to me, must have dropped it there."

  "But Wallops nor none of the messengers would have a right to go intoour room while we were out," declared Tom.

  "Oh, you can't tell what those fellows would do," asserted Bascome,easily. "I'll wager that's how it happened. Ask Wallops. I'm out of it,anyhow. I wasn't in your shack, and you can't make that too strong whenyou report back to Phil and Sid."

  "I will," promised Tom, somewhat nonplused at the outcome of the affair.He had been sure that something would come of the connection betweenBascome and the letter. "I'm sorry I took you away from your friends,"he went on.

  "Oh, that's all right. I'd rather have you _speak_ openly like this,than be _thinking_ a lot of queer things. No, I'm out of it. The letterhad nothing to do with your clock or chair," and with this denialBascome turned back toward his own room.

  "Good night," he called to Tom; "that is, unless you'll join us?"

  He paused and looked back.

  "No, thank you, I'm going to turn in."

  Tom swung around, and was about to proceed down the corridor, when thetorn pieces of the letter Bascome had destroyed caught his eye. By thistime the other youth had entered his room, before Tom could call to himthat perhaps he had better pick up the scraps.

  "Oh, well, leave them there," mused Tom. "I guess if he doesn't carewhether or not anyone sees them, I oughtn't to."

  Slowly he walked along, when a piece of paper, rather larger than theother fragments, was turned over by the draft of his walking. It wasdirectly under a hall light, and Tom could not help seeing the wordswritten on it. They stood out in bold relief--three words--and they werethese:

  _the alarm clock_

  Tom stared at them as if fascinated. They seemed to be written inletters of fire. He stooped and picked up the piece of the torn letter.

  "The alarm clock!" murmured Tom. "I'll wager anything Lenton _was_writing about our clock, and yet Bascome said the letter didn't have athing in it about our mystery. I wonder--I wonder if he expects me tobelieve that--now."

  For a moment he paused, half inclined to go back and have it out withBascome. Then he realized that this would not be the wisest plan.Besides, he wanted to talk with Phil and Sid.

  "I'll tell them," he thought. "Maybe they can see through it, for I'llbe hanged if I can. 'The alarm clock!' I wonder if I would be justifiedin picking up the rest of the pieces, and seeing what I could make ofthem? No! Of course I couldn't read another fellow's letter, even tosolve the mystery. It's not serious enough for that."

  Then Tom, after another look at the scrap he had, thrust it into hispocket, as much for the sake of preventing it from falling into thehands of curiosity seekers, as for any other reason.

  "We'll see what Phil and Sid can make of it," he mused, and then,hearing someone approaching, Tom hastened on to his own room.

  "It certainly is queer," said Phil, when Tom had told him the result ofhis little excursion. "I think I'd almost have picked
up the wholeletter. Bascome couldn't have cared much about it, or he wouldn't havethrown the pieces into the hall. Guess I'll go get 'em."

  "No, we can't do a thing like that," declared Sid quickly. "I know abetter plan."

  "What?" inquired Tom.

  "Let's ask Wallops if he had a note to deliver to Bascome from Lenton.He may have gotten in our room by mistake."

  "Of course!" cried Tom, quickly. "The very thing. Maybe that will helpclear it up."

  It was comparatively early, and Wallops was found in the janitors'quarters.

  "No," he replied, in answer to Sid's inquiry, "I haven't seen Mr.Bascome or Mr. Lenton this evening, and I had no note for either ofthem, nor from one. And I wasn't in your room."

  "Oh, all right!" exclaimed Phil, quickly, for he did not want to createany talk. "I dare say it was a mistake. Come on, fellows."

  "Well, what do you think now?" asked Tom, as the three were on their wayto their room.

  "I think either Bascome or Lenton was in our room," declared Phil.

  "Yes, but which one?" asked Sid.

  No one could answer him.