"Brass" for an Armor Plate
Thursday night and Friday morning more copies of the betrayed signals poured in upon Captain Dick.
Wherever these signals had been received by captains of other school teams, it soon appeared, these captains of rival elevens had punctually mailed them back. It spoke volumes for the honor of the American schoolboy, for Gridley High School was feared far and wide on the gridiron, and there was not an eleven in the state but would have welcomed an honorable way of beating Prescott's men.
Moreover, working on Dick's suggestion, Mr. Morton busied himself with securing several letters that had been received from Drayne's father.
These letters were compared, Friday evening, with the copies of the signals that had been sent to other elevens. Under a magnifying glass these collected papers all exhibited one fact that the letters and the copies of the signal code had been struck off on a machine having the same peculiarities as to worn faces of certain types. It was thus rather clearly established that Phin Drayne must have used the typewriting machine that stood in his father's office.
Drayne was not at school on Friday. Instead, an excuse of illness was received from him.
Nor did Mr. Morton say anything to Dr. Thornton, the principal, until the end of the school week.
Just after school had been dismissed, at one o'clock Friday afternoon, Mr. Morton called Dr. Thornton to the private office, and there laid before him the charges and the proofs.
That fine old gentleman was overwhelmed with grief that "one of his boys" should have done such an utterly mean, wanton and dishonorable thing.
"This can't be passed by, Mr. Morton," exclaimed Dr. Thornton brokenly. "If you will kindly leave the proofs in my hands, I will see that the whole matter is taken up officially."
Friday afternoon the football squad met for more practice with the new signals. Friday evening each young man who was scheduled as being even likely to play the next day studied over the signals at home, then, under orders, burned his copy of the code. Saturday morning the squad met for some more practice, though not much.
"I believe all of us are in trim now, sir," Captain Prescott reported to the coach. "I am rather sure all of our men know the new signals by heart, and there'll be no confusion. But, of course, for the first game, the old snap of our recent practice will be missing. It has been a hard blow to us."
"If we have to lose to-day's game," muttered Mr. Morton, "I'll be almost satisfied to lose it to Tottenville, after the manly and straightout conduct of Mr. Jarvis!"
"That same line of thought would make us content to go through a losing season, for all the fellows in other towns who received that betrayed code sent the information right back to us," smiled Prescott. "But we're not going to lose to-day's game, Mr. Morton, nor any other day's. Drayne's treachery has just about crazed the other fellows with anger. They'll win everything ahead of 'em, now, just for spite and disgust, if for no better reason."
"Sometimes anger serves a good purpose," laughed Mr. Morton. "But it was pitiful to look at poor old Dr. Thornton yesterday afternoon. At first I thought he was going to faint. He seemed suddenly to grow ten years older. It cut him to the quick. He loves every one of his boys, and to have one of them go bad is just as painful to him as to see his own son sent to the penitentiary."
"Is Dr. Thornton coming to the game this afternoon, sir?"
"Yes; he has never missed one yet, in any year that he has been principal of Gridley High School."
"Then we'll make that fine old American gentleman feel all right again by the grand game that we'll put up," promised Dick vehemently. "I'll pass the word, and the fellows will strain themselves to the last drop."
Orders were issued to the gate tenders to throw Drayne out if he presented himself at the gate.
Drayne did put in an appearance, and he got through the gate to a seat on the grand stand, but it was no fault of the gate tenders.
Drayne had spent some of his spare money at the costumer's. With his trim, rather slim figure Phin Drayne made up rather well as a girl. He wore black—-mourning throughout, perhaps in memory of his departed honor—-and a heavy veil covered his face. In this disguise Drayne sat where he could see what would happen.
At the outset it was Gridley's kick off, and for the next ten minutes Tottenville had the ball, fighting stubbornly with it. But at last, when forced half way down the field between center and its own goal line, Gridley blocked so well in the three following plays that the pigskin came to the home eleven.
Dick bent over, holding the ball for the snapback, while his battle front formed on each side of him.
Dave Darrin, quarter-back, raced back a few steps, then halted, looking keenly, swiftly over the field.
Phin Drayne drew his breath sharply. Then his heart almost stopped beating as he listened.
"Thirty-eight—-nine—-eleven—-four!" sounded Darrin's voice, sharp and clear.
"That's the run around the left end!" throbbed Phin Drayne.
But it wasn't. A fake kick, followed by a cyclonic impact at the right followed.
"They've changed the signals!" gulped the guilty masquerader behind the black veil. "Then they've found out."
With this came the next disheartening thought:
"That's the reason, then, why the coach ordered me out of the field Thursday afternoon. Morton is wise. I wonder if he has told it all around?"
Gridley High School was doing some of its brilliant, old-style play now. Prescott was proving himself an ideal captain, quick-witted, full of strategy, force, push and dash, yet all the while displaying the best of cool judgment in sizing up the chances of the hard battle.
But that which Phin Drayne noted most of all was that every signal used had a different meaning from that employed in the code he had mailed to the captains of the other school teams.
"It was all found out, and Gridley wasn't hurt," thought Phin, gnashing his teeth. "Good luck always seems to follow that fellow Prescott! Can't he be beaten? We shall see! Prescott, my fine bully, I'm not through with you yet."
The first half ended without either side scoring. Impartial onlookers thought that perhaps formidable Tottenville had had rather the better of it, but no one could tell with certainty which was the better team.
When neither side scores in the first half that which remains to be determined is, which side will show the bigger reserve of vitality in the second half.
And now the ball was off again, with twenty-two men pursuing and fighting for it as though the fate of the nation hung on the result. Dick, too, soon had things moving at a gait that had all Gridley standing up and boosting with all the powers of lungs, hands and feet.
All that remained to interest Phin Drayne was to discover whether his late comrades had sufficiently mastered their new signals not to fail in their team work.
Once in the second half there was a brief fluster. Two Gridley men went "woozy" over the same signal. But alert Dave Darrin rushed in and snatched a clever advantage out of momentary confusion.
After that there was no more confusion. Gridley took the game by a single touchdown, failing in the subsequent kick for goal. Five minutes later time expired.
Feeling doubly contemptible now, and sick at heart, Phin Drayne crawled weakly down from the grand stand. He made his way out in the throng, undetected. He returned to the costumer's, got off his sneaking garb and donned his own clothing, then slipped away out through a back door that opened on an alleyway.
Not until Sunday afternoon did Drayne yield to the desire to get out of doors. His training life had made outer air a necessity to him, so he yielded to the desire. But he kept to back streets.
Just as luck would have it, Drayne came suddenly face to face with Dr. Thornton.
The good old principal had a fixed belief which followed the practice of American law, to the effect that every accused man is innocent until he has been proved guilty.
In addition, the doctor had recovered a good deal from his first depression. Therefore he was able to meet this offending pupil as he would want to under the circumstances.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Drayne," was Dr. Thornton's courteous greeting."It is beautiful; weather to be out, isn't it?"
"It is a perfect day, sir," Drayne replied.
Once he had gotten past the principal the young wretch gave way to his exultation.
"No charge has been made, then," he told himself gloatingly. "If I had been denounced, the Prin. could hardly have been as gracious. Well, hang it all, what are charges going to amount to, anyway?"
At the High School Monday morning, both before school and at recess, the members of the football squad cut Drayne dead.
"They suspect me, but they can't prove anything, anyway," chuckled the traitor to himself. "Brass, Phin, my boy! Brass! That is bound to win out when the clodhoppers can't prove a blessed thing."
As none of the students outside of the squad showed any especial inclination to cut him, Phin felt almost wholly reassured.
"It would be libelous, anyway, if the gang passed around a word that they couldn't prove," chuckled Drayne. "So I guess those that may be doing a heap of thinking will have caution enough to keep their mouths shut, anyway,"
That afternoon, after luncheon, Phin Drayne took a long tramp over country roads at the back of the big town. It was five o'clock when he returned.
"Here's a note for you, on High School stationery," said Mrs. Drayne, putting an envelope in her son's hand. "It came some time ago."
Something warned the fellow not to open the envelope there. He took it to his room, where he read the letter. It was from Dr. Thornton, and said only:
"You are directed to appear before the Board of Education at its stated weekly meeting to-night. This is urgent, and you are warned not to fail in giving this summons due heed."
In an instant Phin was white with fear. His legs trembled under him, and cold sweat stood out on his neck, face and forehead.
For some moments the young man acted as though in danger of collapse. Then he staggered over to the tap at his washbowl, and gulped down a glass of water. He paced the room restlessly for a long time, and finally went over and stood looking out of the window.
"Young man," he said to himself severely, "you've got to brace, and brace hard. If you haven't any nerve, then getting square is too strenuous a game for you? Now, what can that gang prove? They can suspect, and they can charge, but my denial is fully as good as any other man's affirmation. Go before the Board of Education? Of course I will. And I'll make any accuser of mine look mighty small before that august board of local duffers!"
Brave words! They cheered the young miscreant, anyway. Phin ate his supper with something like relish. Afterwards he set out for the High School building, in which the Board had its offices. Nor did his courage fail him until he had turned in through the gate.
A young man, whistling blithely, came in behind him. It was Dick Prescott, erect of carriage, and brisk and strong of stride, as becomes a young athlete whose conscience is clear and wholesome.
"Hullo, Prescott, what are you doing around here to-night?" hailedDrayne.
But Dick seemed not to have heard. Not a note did he drop in the tune that he was whistling. Springing up the steps ahead, Dick vanished behind the big door.
"Oh, of course he goes here to-night," thought Phin, with sudden disgust. "Prescott scribbles for 'The Blade' and the Board of Education is one of his stunts each week."
One of the Fallen
For a few moments Drayne hung about outside, irresolute. Then his native shrewdness asserted itself.
"Not to go in, after having been seen here in the yard would be to confess whatever anyone wants to charge," muttered Phin. "Of course I'll go in. And I'll just stand there and look more and more astounded every time that anyone says anything. Brass, Phin—-brass! Oh, I'd like to see anyone down me!"
So, with all the swagger he could put on, this young Benedict Arnold of the school stepped into the Board room. As he entered, the clerk of the Board hastened toward him.
"Step into this anteroom at the side, Mr. Drayne, until you're called," the clerk directed. "There will be some routine business to be transacted first. Then, I believe, the Board has a few questions it desires to ask you."
Left by himself, the young man began to be a good bit frightened. He was brave enough in matters requiring only physical courage. But in this instance the culprit knew that he had been guilty of a contemptibly mean act, and the knowledge of it made a moral coward of him.
"What are they doing? Trying to sentence, me to solitary confinement?" wondered the young man, when minute after minute went by without any call for him. In the Board room he could hear the droning of voices.
"And that Dick Prescott is out there, sitting at a reporter's table, ready to take in all that happens," muttered Phin savagely. "Won't he enjoy himself, though?"
At last it seemed to Phin as though a hush fell over those in the next room. But it was only that voices had been much lowered.
Then a door opened, the clerk looking in and calling:
"Mr. Drayne, will you come before the Board now?"
Phin passed into the larger apartment. Seated in one chair was Dr. Thornton; in another chair Mr. Morton. And Dick Prescott was there, but gathering up his writing materials as though about to go.
The chairman waited in silence until Prescott had passed out of the Board room. After the clerk had closed the door the chairman announced:
"The Board is now in executive session. Dr. Thornton, we will listen to the matter which we understand you wish to bring before us for consideration."
Composedly Dr. Thornton stepped to the edge of the table, standing there, resting his left hand on the table as he began to speak.
In simple words, without any visible emotion, the High School principal stated what he understood of the receipt of copies of the football signal code by the captains of rival football elevens.
Next Mr. Morton took the stand, so to speak, and went much more into detail. He told what the reader already knows, producing several of the copies returned by the honorable captains of other school teams.
Then Mr. Morton put in evidence, with these copies of the code, copies of business letters received from Drayne's father, and presumably written on the Drayne office machine.
"If you examine these exhibits, gentlemen, I think you will agree that the betrayed code and the business letters were written on one and the same machine. The use of the magnifying glass makes it even more plain."
Then Mr. Morton sat down.
"Now, young Mr. Drayne, what have you to say?" demanded the presiding officer.
"Why should I say anything, sir?" demand Drayne, with an impudent assumption of swaggering ease.
"Then you admit the truth of the charges, Mr. Drayne?"
"I do not."
"Then you must really have something to say."
"I have heard a charge made against me. I am waiting to have it proved."
"Do you admit," asked the presiding officer, "that these copies of the code were written on your father's office machine?"
"I do not, sir. But, if it be true, is that any proof that I made those copies of the signal code? Is it argued that I alone have access to the typewriter in my father's office. For that matter, if I have an enemy in the High School and I must have several—-wouldn't it be possible for that enemy, or several of them, to slyly break into my father's office and use that particular typewriting machine?"
This was confidently delivered, and it made an undoubted impression on at least two or three members of the Board. But now Mr. Morton broke in, quietly:
"I thought some such attempt as this might be made. So I waited until I saw what the young man's line of defense might be. Here is an envelope in which one of the copies was received by the captain of a rival football team. You will note that the sender, while understanding something about the use of a type machine, was plainly a novice in directing an envelope on the typewriter. So he addressed this envelope in handwriting. Here is the envelope in question, and here is one of Mr. Drayne's school examination papers, also in his own handwriting. I will ask the members of the Board to examine both."
There was silence, while the copies passed from hand to hand,Drayne losing color at this point.
"Be brassy!" he whispered to himself. "You'll pull through, Phin, old boy."
"I am sorry to say, Mr. Drayne, that the evidence appears to be against you," declared the chairman slowly.
"It may, sir," returned the boy, "but it isn't conclusive evidence."
"Have you anything more to say, Mr. Morton?" asked the chairman, looking at the submaster.
"Plenty, Mr. Chairman, if the Board will listen to me."
"Proceed, Mr. Morton."
The football coach thereupon launched into a swiftly spoken tirade against the "brand of coward and sneak" who would betray his school in such a fashion. Without naming Phin, Mr. Morton analyzed the motives and the character of such a sneak, and he did it mercilessly, although in the most parliamentary language. Nor did he look toward the boy, but Phin was squirming under the lash, his face alternately red or ghastly.
"For such a scoundrel," continued Mr. Morton, "there is no hope greater than the penitentiary! He is fit for nothing else. Such a traitor would betray his best friend, or his country. Such a sneak would be dead to all feelings of generosity. The smallest meannesses must envelop his soul. Why, sir, the sender of these copies of the signal code was so mean, so small minded, so sneaking and so utterly selfish"—-how Phin squirmed in his seat!—-"that, in sending the envelopes through the mail he was not even man enough to pay full postage. Four cents was the postage required for each envelope, but this small-souled sneak, this ungenerous leech actually made the receivers pay half of the postage on 'due-postage' stamps."
"I didn't!" fairly screamed red-faced Phin, leaping up out of his chair. "I stuck a four-cent stamp on each envelope myself! I remem——-"
Of a sudden he stopped in his impetuous burst of language. A great hush fell in the room. Phin felt himself reeling with a new fright.
"Then," demanded Mr. Morton, in a very low voice, his face white, "why did you deny having sent out these envelopes containing the copies of the code?"
There was a shuffling of feet. Two or three of the Board laughed harshly.
"Oh, well!" burst almost incoherently from the trapped boy. "When you employ such methods as these you make a fellow tell on himself!"
All his 'brass' was gone now. He looked, indeed, a most pitiable object as he stood there, his lower jaw drooped and his cheeks twitching.
"I think you have said about all, Mr. Drayne, that it is necessary for you to say," interposed the chairman. "Still, in the interest of fair play we will allow you to make any further statements that you may wish to make. Have you anything to offer?"
"No!" he uttered, at last, gruffly.
At a sign from the chairman the clerk stepped silently over, took Phin by one elbow, and led him to the door. Phin passed on out of the building, stumbling blindly. He got home, somehow, and into bed.
In the morning, however, even a sneak is braver.
"What can they do to me, anyway?" muttered Phin, as he dressed. "I didn't break any of the laws of the state! All anyone can do is to cut me. I'll show 'em all how little I care for their contempt."
So it was not wholly in awe that Phin Drayne entered the general assembly room the next morning, a few minutes before opening time. Several of the students greeted him pleasantly enough. Phin was quick to conclude that the news had not leaked anyway, beyond the members of the football squad.
Then came the opening of the session. The singing books lay on the desks before the students. Instead, however, of calling out the page on which the morning's music would be found, Dr. Thornton held his little gavel in his hand, after giving a preliminary rap or two on his desk.
"I have something to say to the students of the school this morning," began Dr. Thornton, in a low but steady voice. "It is something which, I am happy to state, I have never before been called upon to say.
"One of the most valuable qualities in any man or woman is loyalty. All of us know, from our studies in history and literature, many conspicuous and noble examples of loyalty. We have also, in our mind's eye, some examples of the opposite qualities, disloyalty and treachery. Outside of sacred history one of the most conspicuous examples of betrayal was that of Benedict Arnold."
Every boy and girl now had his eyes turned fixedly on the old principal. Outside of the football squad no student had any idea what was coming. Phin tried to look wholly unconscious.
Dr. Thornton spoke a little more on the meanness of treachery and betrayal. Then, looking straight over at the middle of the third aisle on the boys' side of the room, the principal commanded:
"Mr. Drayne, stand by your desk!"
Phin was up, hardly knowing how he accomplished the move. Every pair of eyes in the room was focused on him.
"Mr. Drayne," continued the principal, and now there was a steely glitter of contempt in the old man's eyes, "you were displeased because you did not attain to as high honors on the football eleven as you had hoped. In revenge you made copies of the code signals of the team, and mailed a copy to the captain of nearly every team against which Gridley High School is to play this year."
There came, from all parts of the room, a gasp of incredulous amazement.
"Your infamy, your treachery and betrayal, Mr. Drayne, were traced back to you," continued the principal. "You were forced to admit it, last night, before the Board of Education. That Board has passed sentence in your case. Mr. Drayne, you are found utterly unfit to associate with the decent manhood and womanhood to be found in the student body of this High School. By the decision of the Board you are now expelled from this school. You will take your books and belongings and leave instantly. You will never presume to enter through the doors of this school again. Go, sir!"
From Phin came an angry snarl of defiance. He tried to shout out, to tell the principal and his late fellow students how little, or less than little, he cared about their opinions.
But the words stuck in his throat. Ere he could try again, a hiss arose from one quarter of the room. The hiss grew and swelled. Phin realized, though he dared not look about him any longer, that the hissing came as much from the girls as from the boys.
Drayne did not attempt to bend over his desk. Instead, he marched swiftly down the half of the aisle, then past the platform toward the door.
"Mr. Drayne," called Dr. Thornton, "you have not taken your books, or paper or other desk materials."
"I leave them, sir," shouted Phin, above the tumult of hissing, "for the use of some of your many pauper students."
Then he went out, slamming the door after him. He darted down to the basement, then waited before the locker door until one of the monitors came down, unlocked the door, and allowed Phin to get his hat. But the monitor never looked at him, or spoke.
Once out of the building, Phin could keep back the choking sob and tears no longer. Stealing down a side street, where he would have to pass few people, Phin gave way to his pent-up shame. Yet in it all there was nothing of repentance. He was angry with himself—-in a fiendish rage toward others.
Afterwards, he learned that the books and other contents of his desk were burned in the school yard at recess, to the singing of a dirge. But, even for the purpose of making a bonfire of his books the students would not touch the articles with their hands. They coaxed the janitor to find a pair of tongs, and with this implement Phin's books and papers were conveyed to the purifying blaze.
Behind the door in the privacy of his own room Phin Drayne shook his fist at the surrounding air.
"I have one mission in life, now, anyway!" raged the boy. "I've got some cruel scores to pay. You, Dick Prescott, shall come in for a large share of the payment! No matter how long I have to wait and plan, or what I have to risk, you shan't get away from me!"
Dick Meets the Boy-with-a-Kick
Evil thoughts can never be cherished, day after day, without leading the more daring or brutal into some form of crime.
Phin, the first three or four times he tried to appear on MainStreet, was "spotted" and hissed by High School boys.
Even the boys of the lower schools heard the news, and took up the hissing with great zest.
So Phin was forced to remain indoors during the day, which drove him out by night, instead.
Had he been older, and known more of human nature, he would have known that the hissing would soon die out, and thereafter he would meet only cold looks.
At home, be sure Phin was not happy. His mother, a good woman, suffered in silence, saying little to her son.
Phin's father, a hard-headed and not over scrupulous man of business, looked upon the incident of expulsion as a mere phase in life. He thought it "would do the boy good, and teach him to be more clever."
Gridley met Milton High School and scored another victory, Milton taking only two points on a safety that Gridley was forced to make.
And now the game with Chester was looming up ahead. It was due for the coming Saturday.
Three times a week, Dick Prescott had his squad out for drill and practice, though he was careful to follow Mr. Morton's suggestion not to get the young men trained down "too fine."
Early one evening in mid-week, Dick sat at his desk in "The Blade" office, "grinding out" some local copy. He was in a hurry to finish, for he was due to be in bed soon. Every member of team and squad was pledged to keep early hours of retiring on every night but Saturday.
In another chair, near by, sat Dave Darrin, who dropped in to speak with his chum, and was now waiting until they could stroll down Main Street together.
"I've just thought of something I want to do, Dick," mutteredDave suddenly. "I'll jump out and attend to it, now. Walk downMain Street, when you're through, and you'll run into me."
Prescott, nodding, went on with his writing, turning out page after page. Then he rose, placing the sheets on News Editor Bradley's desk.
"I'm pretty sure you'll find it all right, Mr. Bradley," declaredDick. "Now, I must get home, for I'm due in bed in half an hour."
"Training and newspaper work don't go well together," laughed the news editor. "However, your football season will soon be over. This time next year you'll be through with High School, and I hope you'll be with us then altogether."
"I don't know about that, Mr. Bradley," smiled Dick, picking up his hat and starting for the door. "But I do know that I like newspaper work mighty well. When a fellow is writing for a paper he seems to be alive all the time, and right up to the minute."
"That youngster may come to us for a while, after he gets out of High School," called Mr. Pollock, across the room, after Prescott had, gone out. "But he won't stay long on a small daily. A youngster with all his hustle is sure to pull out, soon, for one of the big city dailies. The country towns can't hold 'em."
Dick went briskly down the street, whistling blithely, as a boy will do when he's healthy and his conscience is clear.
A block below another boy, betraying the hang-dog spirit only too plainly, turned the corner into Main Street.
It was Phin Drayne, out for one of his night walks. Fearing that he might be insulted, and get into a fight with some one, Drayne had armed himself with one of his father's canes. The stick had a crook for a handle.
Prescott caught a glimpse of the other boy's face; then he turned away, hastening on.
"I'm not even worth looking at," muttered Phin to himself.
Just as Dick went past, Phin seized the cane by the ferule end, and lunged out quickly.
The crook caught neatly around one of Dick's ankles just as the foot was lifted.
Like a flash Prescott went down. One less nimble, and having had less training, might have been in for a split kneecap. But Dick was too much master of his body and its movements. He went down to his hands, then touched lightly on his knees.
Phin laughed sneeringly as Dick sprang up, unhurt.
"Keep out of my way, after this—-you less-than-nothing!" muttered Dick between his teeth. "I don't want to have to even hit a thing like you!"
"You'll show good judgment, Mr. Big-head, if you don't try it," jeered Drayne, menacing Dick with the cane.
The color came into Dick's face. Leaping forward, with all the adroitness of the born tackler, he caught that cane, just as it descended, and wrenched it out of Phin Drayne's cowardly, hand.
Crack! Dick broke it in two across his knee, then tossed the pieces into the street.
"You'll never be able to do anything better than a sneaky act," muttered Dick contemptuously, turning to walk on.
With a smothered cry Phin Drayne leaped forward to strike Prescott down from behind.
Dick was around again like a flash, one fist striking up the arm with which the sneak had aimed his blow.
"Stand off, and keep away," advised Prescott coldly.
"I won't; I'll thrash you!" hissed Phin.
There was nothing for Dick to do but put up his guard, which he did with great promptness. Drayne danced around him, seeking a good point at which to close in.
Prescott had no notion of fighting; neither did he propose to take an assault meekly.
"Look out!" yelled Drayne, suddenly rushing in.
"Certainly," mocked Prescott coolly.
He shot up Phin's arm as easily as could have been desired. With his right he parried another blow.
"Get out of this, and go about your business," advised Dick sternly.
"Think I'll take any orders from you?" snarled Phin. "I'll——-"
He continued to crowd in, hammering blows. Dick parried, but did not attempt to retaliate. The truth was, he felt secretly sorry for the fellow who had fallen as low as Phin.
But Drayne was no coward physically, when his blood was up. It drove him to fever heat, now, to see how easily the captain of the football team repulsed him.
"I'll get your wind going, and then I'll hammer you for fair!" snarled Drayne.
"Mistake there, somewhere," retorted Dick coolly.
But Drayne was coming in, harder and harder. Dick simply had to do something. So, after he had parried more than a score of blows the young football captain suddenly took a springy step forward, shot up Phin's guard, and landed a staggering blow on the nose. Phin began to reel. Dick hit him more lightly on the chest, yet with force enough to "follow up" and send to his knees.
"Here, what's this?" called a voice, and a heavy hand seized Dick by the collar behind, pulling him back.
It was Heathcote Drayne, Phin's father, a powerful man, who now held Prescott.
Phin was quickly upon his feet and start forward.
From across the street sounded a warning cry, followed by footsteps.
"Now, I've got you!" cried Phin exultantly. He struck, and landed, on Dick's cheek.
"Stop that, Phin!" shouted his father, without letting go of Dick's collar, however. Phin, however, instead of obeying, aimed another blow, and would have landed, had not another figure bounded in and taken the blow, next hurling Phin back against a brick wall.
It was Len Spencer, "star" reporter of "The Blade," who had thus interfered. And now Dave Darrin was dancing in front of Heathcote Drayne, ordering:
"Let go of Prescott! What sort of fair play is this?"
"Mind your own business!" ordered Mr. Drayne. "I'm stopping a fight."
Not an instant did impulsive Darrin waste in arguing the matter. He landed his fist just under Heathcote Drayne's left eye, causing that Heathcote to let go of Dick in a hurry.
"You young scoundrel!" glared Mr. Drayne, glaring at Dave.
"Opinions may differ as to who the scoundrel is," retorted Dave unconcernedly. "My own notions of fair play are against holding one of the parties in a fight so that the other may hammer him."
"I'll have you arrested for this assault," stormed Mr. Drayne, applying a handkerchief to the bruised spot under his eye. "Both you and Prescott—-your ruffian friend for assaulting my son.
"Go ahead and do it," retorted Dave. "As it happens, your son did all the assaulting, and Prescott, who didn't care about fighting with such a thing, only defended himself. We saw it all from across the street, but we didn't come across to interfere until we had to."
"I'll take some of your impudence out of you in the police court," insisted Mr. Drayne.
"Yes, I would, if I were you," broke in Len Spencer coolly. "I saw this whole business, too, and I'll take pleasure in testifying against you both. Mr. Drayne, you didn't see the start of this thing, and I did. But you, at least, know that your son is a moral leper kicked out of the High School because he was not decent enough to associate with the other students. I wouldn't be surprised if he gets some of his bad qualities from you, sir"
"You'll sing a different tune in court," asserted Heathcote Drayne heatedly.
"So will you," laughed Len Spencer. "By the way, I see a policeman down the street. If you want to prefer a charge, Mr. Drayne, I'll blow my police whistle and bring the officer here."
Spencer took a whistle from his pocket, moving it toward his lips.
"Do you want the officer!" challenged the reporter.
But Mr. Drayne began to see the matter in a somewhat different light. He knew much about the nature of his son, and here were two witnesses against him. Besides, one was a trusted staff writer for the local paper, and the whole affair was likely to result in a disagreeable publicity.
"I'll think this all over before I act," returned Mr. Drayne stiffly, as he took his son by one arm. "Come along, Phin."
As the Draynes moved away each held a handkerchief to his face.
"I don't think much of fighting, and I don't like to do it," muttered Darrin, who was beginning to cool down. "But if Heathcote Drayne had had to do more fighting when he was younger he might have known how to train that cub of his to be more of a man."
Dick Puts "A Better Man" in His Place
Of course Dick heard no more from the Draynes. He didn't expect that he would.
Phin, however, was noticed no more on the streets of the little city. Then, in some way, it leaked out that his father had sent him to a military boarding school where the discipline was credited with being very rigid.
"I guess papa has found that his little boy was none too much of an angel," laughed Dave Darrin when discussing the news with his chums.
The first four games of the season went off successfully for Gridley, though all were hard battles in which only fine leadership and splendid team work by all saved the day.
Two of these games had been played on the home grounds, two away from home. The fifth game of the season was scheduled to be played on the home grounds. The opponent for this game was to be Hallam Heights High School. The Hallam boys were a somewhat aristocratic lot, but not snobbish, and the Gridley young men looked forward to an exciting and pleasant game. It was the first game ever played between Gridley and Hallam Heights. Coach Morton talked about the strangers one rainy afternoon in the gymnasium.
"I believe you're going to find yourselves up against a hard proposition," declared coach slowly "These young men attend a High School where no expense is spared. Some of the wealthy men of the town engage the physical director, who is one of the best men in his class. Speight, who was at college with me, is engaged in addition as the football coach. I remember Speight as one of the cleverest and most dangerous men we had at college. He could think up a whole lot of new field tricks overnight. Then again, most of the Hallam Heights boys are young fellows who go away for athletic summers. That is, they are young fellows who do a lot of boating, yachting, riding, tennis, track work, and all the rest of it. They are young fellows who glory in being in training all the year around. Speight writes me that he thinks he has the finest, strongest and most alert boys in the United States."
"We'll whip them, just the same," announced Dick coolly.
"Gridley will, if anyone can—-I know that," agreed Mr. Morton. "You've won all four games that you've played this season. Hallam Heights has played five games and won them all. The Hallam youngsters are out to capture the record that Gridley has held for some time that of capturing all the games of the season."
"Bring 'em on!" begged Darrin. "I wish we had 'em here to play just as soon as the rain lets up."
"Don't make the mistake of thinking that, because the Hallam boys have rich fathers, they're dudes, who can't play on wet ground," laughed Mr. Morton.
"If Hallam sends forth such terrors," grinned Dick, rising from the bench on which he had been sitting, "then we must get in trim for 'em. Come on, fellows; some of the light speedy exercises. I'll work you up to all the speed you can take care of, this afternoon."
For the next ten minutes Dick was as good as his word. Then, after a brief breathing spell, Prescott ordered his men to the running track in the gallery.
"Three laps at full speed, with a two-minute jog between each speed burst, and a minute of breathing between each kind of running," called out Dick.
Then, after he had seen the fellows started, he turned to the coach.
"If I never learned anything else from you, Mr. Morton, I think I've wholly absorbed the idea that no man is in condition unless he can run well; and that nothing will make for condition like judicious running."
"As to what you've learned from me, Captain Prescott," replied the coach, "I fully believe that you've learned all that I have to teach. I wouldn't be afraid to go away on a vacation and leave the team in your hands."
"Him!" smiled Dick. "Without you to back me up, Mr. Morton, I'm afraid some of the fellows might kick over the traces."
"They wouldn't kick over but once," laughed the coach. "The first time any fellow did that you'd drop him from the team. And the fellows know it. I haven't noticed the young men attempting to frisk you any."
"One did."
"I know whom you mean," replied the submaster, his brow clouding."But he got out of the team, didn't he?"
"Yes; but I didn't put him out."
"You would have put him off the team if it had been left for you to do it."
As soon as he thought the squad had had enough exercise to keep them in tone, Dick dismissed them.
"But every one of you do his level best to keep in condition all the time until we get through with Hallam Heights," urged the young captain. "That applies, too, not only to team members, but to every man in the squad. If the Hallam fellows are swift and terrific, we can't tell on whom we may have to pounce for substitutes."
This was to be a mid-week game, taking place Wednesday afternoon. Wednesday morning word reached school that Hudson, who was down to play right guard, and Dan Dalzell, right end, were both at home in bed, threatened with pneumonia. In each case the doctor was hopeful that the attack would be averted, but that didn't help out the afternoon's game any.
"Two of our prize men out," muttered Dick anxiously to Dave at recess.
"And it's claimed that misfortunes always travel by threes," returnedDarrin, half mournfully.
"Don't!" shivered Prescott. "Let us off with two misfortunes."
Afternoon came along, somewhat raw and lowering. Rain might prevent the game. Less than three quarters of the people who bought seats in advance appeared at the grounds. The sale of spot seats was not as brisk by half as it would have been on a pleasanter day.
But the Hallam Heights boys came along early, bounding and full of fun and dash.
They were a fine-looking lot of boys. The Gridley youngsters took to their opponents instantly.
"I wonder what's keeping Dick?" muttered Dave Darrin, half anxiously, in dressing quarters.
"Anyway, we won't worry about him until we have to," nodded Mr. Morton. "Our young captain is about the promptest man, as a rule, in the whole squad."
"That's just why I am uneasy," grunted Dave.
Hardly had he spoken when Dick Prescott came in—-but limping slightly!
And what a rueful countenance the young captain of the team displayed!
"Suffering Ebenezer, man, but what has happened?" gasped Dave.
All the other Gridley youngsters stopped half way in their togging to listen for the reply.
"Nothing much," grunted Dick. "Yet it came near to being too much. A man bumped me, as I was getting on the car, and drove me against the iron dasher. It was all an accident, due to the man's clumsiness. But it barked my knee a good bit."
"Let me see you walk about the room," ordered Coach Morton. He watched closely, as Dick obeyed.
"Sit down, Prescott, and draw the trousers leg off on that side.I want to examine the knee."
While Mr. Morton went to work the other members of the team crowded about, anxiety written on all their faces.
"Does it hurt more when I press?" asked the submaster keenly. "Ah, I thought so! Prescott, you're not badly hurt for anything else; but your knee is in no shape to play this afternoon!"
A wail of dismay went up from the team members. The rueful look in Dick's face deepened.
"I was afraid you'd bar me out," he confessed. "I never felt so ashamed in my life."
"It wouldn't be of any use for you to play, for that knee wouldn't stand it in any rough smash," declared the coach, shaking his head solemnly.
"It's all off with us, then," groaned one of the fellows. "We may as well ask Hallam if they'll allow us to hand 'em a score of six to nothing on a platter, and then stay off the field."
"Hush your croaking, will you?" demanded Dave Darrin angrily, glaring about him. "Is that the Gridley way? Do we ever admit defeat? Whoever croaks had better quit the team altogether."
Under that rebuke the boy who had ventured the opinion shrank back abashed.
"You're sure I'll be in no shape to go on, Coach?" asked Dick anxiously.
"Why, of course you could go on," replied Mr. Morton. "And you could run about some, too, unless your knee got a good deal stiffer. But you wouldn't be up to Gridley form."
"Have I any right to go on, with a knee in this shape?" queriedDick.
"You certainly haven't," replied Mr. Morton, with great emphasis.
"Dave," called the young football chief, "you're second captain of the team. Get in and get busy. Put up the best fight you can for old Gridley!"
"Aye, that I will," retorted Dave Darrin, his eyes sparkling, cheeks glowing. "I'll go in like a pirate chief, and I'll break the neck of any Gridley man who doesn't do all there is in him this afternoon."
"Listen to the fire eater," laughed Fenton. Dave grinned good-humoredly, but went insistently:
"All right. If any of you fellows think I take less than the best you can possibly do, try it out with me."
Then Darrin came over to rest a hand on Prescott's shoulder.
"Dick, you'll give me any orders you have before we go on, and between the halves, won't you?"
"Not a word," replied Dick promptly. "Dave, you can lead as well as ever I have done. If you're going to be captain to-day you'll be captain in earnest. I'll hamper you neither with advice nor orders."
With so important a player as Dick Prescott out of the team Dave had a hard task in rearranging the eleven. In this he sought direction from Mr. Morton. Rapidly they sketched the new line-up.
Darrin himself would have to drop quarterback and go to center. For this latter post Dave was rather light, but he carried the knack of sturdy assault better than any other man in the team after Prescott.
Tom Reade was called to quarter. Shortly afterwards all the details had been completed.
"As to style, you'll gather that from the signals," muttered Darrin. "The only rule is the one we always have—-that we can't be beat and we know we can't."
There came a rap at the door. Then a bushy mop of football hair was thrust into the doorway.
"Talking strategy, signals or anything we shouldn't hear?" asked the pleasant voice of Forsythe, captain of the Hallam Heights boys.
"Not a blessed thing," returned Dave. "Come in, gentlemen."
Captain Forsythe, in full field toggery, came in, followed by the members of the visiting team, all as completely attired for work.
"We're really not intruding?" asked Forsythe, after he had stepped into the room.
"Not the least in the world," responded Dave heartily. "Mr. Forsythe. let me introduce you to Mr. Morton, our coach, and to Mr. Prescott, the real captain of this tin-pan crowd of pigskin chasers."
"Oh, I mistook you for Prescott," replied Forsythe, as he acknowledged the introductions.
"No; I'm Darrin, the pewter-plate second captain—-the worst you've got to fear to-day," laughed Dave, as he held out his hand.
"Why—-what——anything happened?" asked Captain Forsythe, looking truly concerned.
"Captain Prescott has had his knee injured, and two of our other crack men are in bed, sick," replied Mr. Morton cheerfully. "Otherwise we're all quite well."
"Your captain and two other good men out?" asked Forsythe in real sympathy. "That doesn't sound fair, for we came over here prepared to put up the very best we had against you old invincibles. I'm awfully sorry."
"Captain Forsythe, we all thank you for your sympathy," Dick answered, "but Captain Darrin can lead at least as well as I can. I believe he can do it better. As for the team that we're putting in the field to-day, if you can beat it, you could as easily beat anything we could offer at any other time. So, as far as one may, with such courteous opponents as you are, Gridley hurls back its defiance and throws down the battle gage! But play your very best team, Captain Forsythe, and we'll do our best in return."
Could Dave Make Good?
Dave Darrin, a good deal disheveled and covered with soil and perspiration on his face and neck, came striding in after time had been called on the first half.
Dave's generalship had kept Hallam Heights from scoring, but Gridley hadn't put away any points, either.
"You saw it all from the side lines, Dick?" Dave asked, as the chums, arm in arm, strolled into dressing quarters.
"Yes."
"What are your instructions for the second half."
"I haven't any."
"Your advice, then?"
"I haven't any of that, either. Dave, any fellow who can hold those young human cyclones back as you've done doesn't need any pointers in the game."
"But we simply couldn't score against them," muttered Darrin. "So I know there's something wrong with my leadership. What is it?"
"Nothing whatever, Darrin. It simply means that you're up against the hardest line to get through that I've ever seen Gridley tackle. Why, yesterday I was looking over the record of these Hallam boys, and I find that they've already whipped two college second teams. But you'll get through them in the next Dave, if there's any human way of doing it. So that's all I've got to say, for I'm not out there on the gridiron, and I can't see things from the side line the same as you can on the ten-yard line. Perhaps Mr. Morton may have something to offer."
But the coach hadn't.
"You're doing as well as any man of Gridley could do, Darrin," the submaster assured the young second captain. "Of course, with Prescott at center, and yourself jumping around as quarter-back the team would be stronger. But in Prescott's enforced absence, I don't see how you can play any point of the line more forcefully than you've been doing."
But Dave, instead of looking puffed up, replied half dejectedly:
"I was in hopes you could both show me where I'm weak."
"You're not weak," insisted Coach Morton.
"That throws me back on thinking hard for myself," muttered Darrin.
Where a weaker man would have been pleased with such direct praise Dave felt that he was not doing his duty because he had not been able to lead as brilliantly as Dick had done in earlier games.
"Brute strength isn't any good against these Hallam fellows," Darrin told himself, as he returned to the field. "They're all A-1 athletes. Even if Gridley played a slugging game, it wouldn't bear these Hallam boys down. As to speed and scientific points, they seem to be our masters. Whatever we do against them, it must be something seldom heard of on the gridiron something that will be so brand new that they can't get by it."
Yet twice in the half that followed Gridley barely escaped having to make a safety to save their goal line. Each time, however, Dave wriggled out of it.
When there were but seven minutes left neither team had scored.
Gridley now had the ball for snap-back at its own twenty-five-yard line.
The most that home boosters were hoping for now was that Gridley would be able to hold down the game to no score.
Dave had been thinking deeply. He had just found a chance to mutter orders swiftly.
Fenton, little, wiry and swift, was to-day playing at left end, the position that Dick himself had made famous in the year before.
"Eighteen—-three—eleven—-seven—-nine!" called Tom Reade, crisply.
The first four figures called off the play that Gridley was to make, or to pretend to make. But that nine, capping all at the end, caused a swift flutter in Gridley hearts. For that nine, at the end of the signal, called for a fake play.
Yet the instant that the whistle trilled out its command everyGridley player unlimbered and dashed to the position ordered.
Only three men on the team understood what was contemplated. Coach Morton, from the side lines, had looked puzzled from the moment that he heard the signal.
Dick Prescott, eager for his chum's success, as well as the team's, stood as erect as he could beside Mr. Morton, trying to take in the whole field with one wide, sweeping glance.
As Tom Reade caught the ball on its backward snap, he straightened up, tucking the ball under his left arm and making a dash for Gridley's right end.
Immediately, of course, Hallam rushed its men toward that point.
Yet the movements of Gridley's right wing puzzled the visitors. For all of Dave's right flankers dashed forward, making an effective interference.
Surely, reasoned Captain Forsythe, Tom Reade didn't mean to try to break through by himself with the pigskin.
That much was a correct guess. Tom didn't intend anything of the sort.
All in a flash Reade, as prearranged, dropped the ball, punting it vigorously.
Up it went, soaring obliquely over Gridley's left flank and far beyond.
Just a second before the ball itself started, little Fenton had put himself in motion. By the time that the ball was in the air Fenton was past Hallam's line and scorching down the field.
Now Forsythe and every Hallam man comprehended all in a flash.
Fenton had caught the ball with a nicety that brought wild whoops from the Gridley boosters, now standing on their seats and waving the Gridley colors.
"That little fellow looks like a streak of light," yelled oneGridley booster.
The description wasn't a bad one. Fenton was doing some of the finest sprinting conceivable. Before him nothing menaced but big Harlowe, Hallam's fullback. Harlowe, however, was hurling himself straight in the impetuous way of little Fenton.
It looked like a bump. There could be but one result. Fenton would have to go down to save the ball.
Harlowe reached out to tackle.
Fenton came to a quivering stop, just out of reach. Then, almost instantly, the little left end dashed straight forward again.
But the move had been enough to fool Harlowe. Of course, he assumed that Fenton would spring to one side. Harlowe imagined that it would be a dodge to the left, and Harlowe leaped there to tackle his man.
But Fenton, actually going straight ahead, fooled the calculation of his powerful adversary and got past on the clever trick.
Harlowe dashed after his sly opponent. But Fenton, still almost with his first big breath in his lungs, was running as fast as ever. A man of Harlowe's size was no one to send after a greased mosquito like Fenton.
So nothing hindered. Amid the wildest, noisiest rooting, Fenton stepped it over Hallam's now undefended goal line, reached down and pressed the pigskin against the earth for a touchdown.
On the grand stand the noise was deafening. The whistle sounded and the flushed players of both teams came back to range up for the kick from field. Dave, his cheeks glowing, took the kick. He sent a clean one that scored one more point for Gridley.
The cheering and the playing of the band still continued when the two elevens again lined up for play during the last five minutes of the game. The referee was obliged to signal to the leader to stop his musicians.
Forsythe looked hot and weary. His expectation of an easy victory had come to naught. Unless he and ten other Hallam boys could work wonders in five minutes.
But they couldn't and didn't. The time keeper brought the game to a close.
"Gridley has handed us six to nothing," muttered Forsythe, as he led his disheartened fellows from the field. "That puts us with the other second-rate teams in the state."
"A great lot of orders you needed, didn't you?" was Captain DickPrescott's happy greeting as Dave met him beyond the side lines.
"You won that game for us, just the same," retorted Dave.
"I?" demanded Dick, in genuine amazement.
"Yes; you, and no one else."
"How?"
"You refused to give me a hint. You threw me down hard, on my own resources. I saw all those hundreds of people demanding that Gridley win," retorted Dave. "What could I do? I had to make the fellows do something like what they've been doing under Dick Prescott, or confess myself a dub. I couldn't lean on a word from you, Dick. So you fairly drove me into planning something that would either carry off the game or make us look like chromos of football players. You wouldn't say a word, Prescott, that would take any of the blame on yourself! So didn't you force me to win!"
"That's ingenious, but not convincing," retorted Dick, as the two chums stepped into dressing quarters. "To tell you the truth, Dave, I think a good many people now believe that you ought to be the regular captain."
But Darrin only grinned. He knew better.
Some of the fellows tried to praise Fenton to his face.
"Quit! You can't get away with that," chuckled the fast littleleft end. "Some one had to take that ball and drop it behindHallam's goal line. I was the one who was ordered to do it.If I hadn't, what would you fellows have said about me?"
By the time that the Hallam Heights young men were dressed several of them came to the Gridley quarters, Forsythe at their head.
"We want to shake hands," laughed Forsythe, "and to make sure that you have no hard feelings for what we tried to do to you."
Dick and Darrin took this in laughing goodfellowship.
"If you call this your dub team to-day," continued Forsythe, a bit more gloomily, "we shudder to think what would have happened to us had you put in your regular line-up."
"There isn't any dub team in Gridley," spoke Dick quickly. "All of our fellows are trained in the same way, by the same coach, and we stake all our chances on any line-up that's picked for the day. It was hard on you, gentlemen, that my knee put me out for the day. Darrin is twice as crafty as I am."
"Oh, Darrin is crafty, all right," agreed Forsythe cheerfully."But, somehow, I like him for it."
On some of the side streets Gridley boys were allowed to light bonfires that evening, and there was general rejoicing of a lively nature. From the news that had come over concerning the Hallam Heights team there had been a good deal of fear that Gridley would, on this day, receive a set-back to its rule of always winning.