The Sporting House Killing by G. Powell (free ebook reader for pc .TXT) 📗

That was better.

“And whose idea was it to go there to imbibe intoxicants?”

Jasper looked sheepish and hung his head before looking at Burleson directly. “I reckon both of us sort of decided about the same instant. We been at the revival over at the Tabernacle, and it took a warm turn.”

Catfish squirmed. Jasper wasn’t in pari delicto with Cicero on that decision.

“If I might, President Burleson,” he said in the same respectful voice he used in court. “We all realize the difficult situation this has put Baylor in, and I know I speak for both boys when I say they’d never intentionally do anything to dishonor this university. They both feel privileged they were allowed to study here, and we can all understand your obligation to keep up the university’s very fine reputation.”

“Mr. Calloway,” Burleson said, nodding in Sweet’s direction, “when parents like Mr. Sweet send their children away from home to live and study with us, they do so with an expectation we will look after them. In that respect, we stand in loco parentis, and we take that responsibility very seriously. I can’t have other parents believe we condone licentiousness or drunkenness, much less homicide.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“If a Christian institution cannot be counted upon to uphold Christian principles, then what would become of God’s kingdom?”

Catfish nodded.

The president folded his hands on the desk. “I have no small degree of pride in what we do here. This is the oldest educational institution in Texas. We have matriculated more than eight thousand students since 1845. We were the first coeducational school in the south and only the second in all of America. We are owned by the Baptist General Convention of Texas. I’m proud that only a very small percentage of our students have left these halls unconverted. The overwhelming majority have gone forth from here not only thoroughly drilled intellectually but with hearts full of love for God and for humanity. Mr. Cicero Sweet and Mr. Jasper Cantrell are only freshmen, of course, but we have the same expectations of them that we do of all our students.”

“I know they understand that, Dr. Burleson,” Catfish said.

“We have strict rules of conduct.” Burleson picked up two booklets from his desk. “Mr. Cantrell, I assume you read and studied our student catalog?”

“Yes, sir.”

Catfish had made Jasper reread the catalog in preparation for this meeting.

“As well as our book of university laws?” Burleson asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And Mr. Sweet, I assume you too are familiar with our catalog?”

“I am.”

Burleson flipped through the pages of one of the booklets until he came to the passage he wanted. “Including, I trust, this admonition: ‘All experience in colleges and universities demonstrates that the unrestrained use of money ruins the one guilty of the folly. Every dollar furnished to students beyond actual want, as seen in the published rates, or signed in writing to parents by the teacher is a positive injury to the student and university.’” He fixed his gaze squarely on Henry. “I assume no teacher gave you a written request for extra money for beer or . . . other vices?”

“No, sir.”

“And Mr. Sweet, do you concede that your son was found in a compromising situation in a house of ill repute?”

“I’m sorry to say he was. He and I—”

“That being the case, and with Mr. Cantrell making a similar admission, I don’t see we have much choice in how to deal with this.” Burleson closed the catalog and placed it on his desk.

Audi alteram partem. Catfish edged forward in his chair. “Respectfully, sir, both Cicero and Jasper are children of God too, and I’m sure you’d wish no ill upon them by your own hand.”

“Of course not, but this is their doing.”

He nodded. “Yes, sir, you’re right about that.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small booklet that appeared identical to the one in Burleson’s hand, and turned to a dog-eared page. “Had a chance to look at your student catalog too, and found something of interest there. It’s in the section on discipline, and I admired it when I saw it. Mind if I read it to you?”

“Of course not,” Burleson replied.

Catfish pinched on his pince-nez. “‘The discipline of the university is intended to be a great literary family, bound together by love, mutual interest, and kind offices. Appeals will always be made first to the tenderest, noblest impulses of the heart. Severer remedies will be used only when these fail.’” He looked up at the president over his spectacles before continuing in his jury voice. “We think the noblest impulse of the Christian heart, as your handbook itself says, should be the first resort in this case. Like you said, if a Christian institution can’t be counted on to uphold its own Christian principles, then what’ll become of God’s kingdom?”

Burleson narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Is it a noble impulse to turn a blind eye to admitted sin? Especially when another child of God suffers for it?”

“Well, sir, with all due respect, Cicero Sweet may have sinned, but he’s not guilty of killing that girl.”

“That is yet to be seen, Mr. Calloway.” His tone of voice seemed neither tender nor born of noble impulse.

“That’s really my point, sir. I promise you, I’ll prove at trial someone else killed that girl. He’s not guilty of killing until a jury says so. The law of this land—built on Christian principles, of course—is that a man’s innocent until proven guilty.” He paused to let that soak in. “My worry is if Baylor expels these boys right before Cicero’s trial, it’ll be all over the papers and it’ll cause the jury to believe he must be guilty, because Dr. Burleson wouldn’t have punished him otherwise.”

“I’m neither judge nor jury of that charge.”

“Exactly. I felt sure you’d agree. All we ask is that you hold off on your own decision until after the jury decides what the truth is. We feel as if that’s the noblest and tenderest thing for you to do,