The Sporting House Killing by G. Powell (best non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

wasn’t sure he wanted God to take notice of what was fixing to happen there.

Him and Professor Perkins waited by the front steps. Just after that big bell struck, a surrey pulled up on Fifth Street. Mr. Calloway, Mr. Harley, and Mr. Sweet got out and come on up the sidewalk, talking and pointing here and there as they did. They all met up by the front steps of the main building.

Mr. Calloway said he wanted to visit a spell before they went in. “Jasper, do you understand that President Burleson is considering whether to expel you and Cicero?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t know what he’s gonna do, but you best mind your p’s and q’s.”

“Yes, sir, I understand.”

A clutch of girls come out of Main and swarmed around them. Mr. Calloway waited for them to move on. “He’ll probably ask you what happened. Just tell him the truth.”

“Yes, sir.” Didn’t Mr. Calloway think he would?

More students and one of the lecturers poured out of Main, chattering away about things that weren’t exactly serious compared to the reason Jasper was there. Mr. Calloway stopped talking again until they got on by. The campus was pretty quiet because summer school was smaller. Jasper had laughed when he read the student catalog’s explanation about the summer classes: “Life is too short and its opportunities too precious for earnest people to waste three of the most valuable months of the year.” Maybe they didn’t know July was the time earnest people harvested their cotton, and life would be even shorter if they couldn’t make ends meet. A goodly number of his friends was back home helping with the harvest. He wished he was there, too.

George Truett come out among the students leaving Main. George was a little older but had always been real nice to Jasper. He did part-time pastoring at a Baptist church to pay for school.

“Hello, Jasper,” George said.

Jasper gulped. Thank the Lord that George didn’t know why he was there with the lawyers.

“Howdy,” he choked out.

Mr. Calloway continued after Truett passed. “Have you been in any other trouble while you’ve been here at Baylor?”

“No, sir. Not a lick.”

“Never been to a sporting house before?”

“I ain’t never been to no sporting house,” Jasper stammered, “except that once.”

Professor Perkins shook his head. “You haven’t ever been to any bawdy house.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Jasper, ain’t isn’t proper English.”

“It ain’t?”

“It isn’t.”

“But Mr. Calloway says ain’t sometimes.”

Mr. Calloway looked at Professor Perkins and then back at him. “Son, you came to college to be better than your elders, didn’t you?”

“No, sir. I come because my mother wanted me to.”

Mr. Calloway smiled. “Well, she wants you to use proper grammar.”

“Yes, sir.”

“President Burleson needs to see you’re suited to college.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Calloway and Mr. Harley started whispering to one another. They must be talking about his grammar. He clapped his eyes shut. Don’t say “ain’t.” Don’t say “ain’t.” Don’t say “ain’t.”

“Professor Perkins,” Mr. Sweet said, “I’ve never met President Burleson. Is there anything I should know?”

Perkins glanced up at the third-floor windows above them. “He’s a good and decent man. I think he feels a heavy responsibility to see Baylor’s reputation is maintained appropriately. He’s very proud of this institution. He was president back before the war, when it was located in Independence. Then he came here to be president of Waco University. When Waco University merged with Baylor in ’86, he became president of Baylor again.”

“Henry,” Mr. Calloway said, “Dr. Burleson’s a Baptist, of course, and so takes his religion seriously. He’s not gonna be easy with the boys’ going to a sporting house.”

“Nor am I,” Mr. Sweet said.

Jasper looked down at the sidewalk and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“I think we just go in there and shoot straight with him,” Mr. Calloway said. “I can’t imagine he’d do anything that might contribute to one of his students being convicted of murder.”

“Yes,” Professor Perkins said, “I agree. He genuinely cares about students. And he needs to understand an acquittal is in Baylor’s best interest too.”

“All right,” Mr. Calloway said, “let’s go.”

He patted Jasper on the back and smiled like Daddy did.

Jasper took a deep breath, hitched up his trousers, and spit-dabbed his cowlick down. Lord, don’t let me say “ain’t.” He followed the others inside.

***

Catfish settled into a chair in front of the president’s desk, next to Jasper. He’d never been in the president’s office—met him once at a social occasion over at Walter Fort’s house, spoke a minute or two.

He studied Burleson, hoping to infer his intentions. Stately gentleman about eight to ten years older than Catfish. Wispy white hair and beard edging his bald head. Had a chicken neck. Dressed in a black suit, white waistcoat, shirt with winged collars, and a white bow tie. Might as well have been presiding over some official event. His eyes looked sad.

“Thank you for meeting with me, gentlemen,” the president said from behind his large partner desk. “I have asked my stenographer to take notes on what occurs here. First, let me say to all gathered how sorry I am for the wrong done to that young lady. Flawed as she might be, she was still God’s child. Let me say as well that I am troubled by the notion that two of our students were involved in the sordid business of the Reservation. I should first like to hear they were unaware of the nature of the establishment, if that is the case.”

“Afraid that’s not the case, sir,” Catfish offered deferentially.

“I see.” The president looked disappointed. “Mr. Cantrell, perhaps you could explain yourself then?”

“Yes, sir,” Jasper said. “We was just going there to drink beer.”

The president’s white eyebrows arched. “Indeed.”

Catfish raked his fingers through his hair and shot a warning gaze at the boy. Drinking beer wasn’t much lower than murder and fornication on Burleson’s list of damnable sins.

“I’m terrible sorry for that, sir. We hadn’t ever . . . been there before. I know I made a poor choice, and I’m settled to whatever you feel is the right