"What are you going to do with all that wallpaper, Mr.Schimmelpodt?" laughed Officer Hemingway.
"Me? I gif bail, don't I?" demanded the German.
"Well, you can't do it here. That's a matter to be fixed in court."
"Und dot train going by a mile a minute, I bet you!" gasped theGerman ruefully.
"Come along, lad," urged Hemingway gently. "On Saturdays court opens at one o'clock. We'll get right up there and see this matter through."
"I bet you've see dis matter through—-right through someone, ain't it?" exploded Herr Schimmelpodt, ranging himself on the other side of the young prisoner.
As they went along the German, using all his native and acquired shrewdness, quickly got at the bottom of the matter.
In the meantime indignant Dave Darrin was telling all he knew about the business to an indignant lot of High School youngsters in the day coach.
"You keep your upper eyebrow stiff, Bresgott," urged the warm-heartedGerman. "I see you through by dis business. Don't you worry."
"Thank you, but it isn't the arrest that is really bothering me," Prescott answered. "It's the feet that I'm fooled out of playing this afternoon. And Darrin and I had been trained for so many special tricks for today's game that I'm almost afraid my absence will make a difference in the score. But, Herr Schimmelpodt, if you want to help me, do you really mind dropping in at the store and telling my father, so that he can come down to the court room? Yet please be careful not to scare Dad. He has a horror of courts and criminal law."
"I bet you I do der chob—-slick," promised the German, and hurried away.
"There goes a man that's all right, from his feet up to the top of his head," declared Officer Hemingway.
On the streets Dick's appearance with Hemingway attracted little notice. Folks were used to seeing the High School reporter of "The Blade" walking with this policeman-detective. The few who really did notice merely wondered why Dick Prescott was not on his way to the Tottenville gridiron today.
When Hemingway and his prisoner reached the court room there were only two or three loungers there, for it was still some minutes before the time for the assembling of the court.
Presently Bert Dodge and his friend, Bayliss, dropped in. They glanced at the young left end with no attempt to conceal their feelings of triumph. Bert looked much the worse for wear.
Dick returned their looks coolly, but without defiance. He was angry only that he should have been cheated of his right to play in that big game.
Then in came the elder Dodge, only just back from a sanitarium.Beside him walked Lawyer Ripley, who immediately came over toDick, just before Herr Schimelpodt and Dick's father entered theroom hastily.
"Prescott," began the old lawyer, sitting down beside the young player, and speaking in a low tone, "I've just been called into this matter, as I'm the Dodge family lawyer. Had my advice been asked I would have demanded much more investigation. From what knowledge I have of you, I don't regard you as one who is likely to commit an unprovoked assault. Have you any objection to stating your side of the case bearing in mind, of course, the fact that I'm the Dodge lawyer."
"Not the least in the world," Dick replied promptly.
It was just at this moment that Herr Schimmelpodt and the elderPrescott came hastening into the room.
Bert Dodge and Bayliss looked over uneasily, several times, to where Lawyer Ripley and the young prisoner sat. Dick's father stood by in silence. He already knew his son's version of the affair of the day before. Herr Schimmelpodt didn't say anything, but sat down, breathing heavily.
Then the clerk of the court and two court officers came in. JusticeVesey entered soon after and took his seat on the bench.
"The case of Dodge versus Prescott—-I mean, the people against Prescott, your honor, is the only thing on the docket this afternoon," explained the clerk.
"Is the case ready" inquired the justice mildly.
"I will ask just a moment's delay, your, Honor," announced LawyerRipley, rising. "I wish a moment's conference with my principals."
The court nodding, Mr. Ripley crossed the room, engaging in earnest whispered conversation with the Dodges, father and son.
While this was going on a telegraph messenger boy entered. EspyingDick, he went over and handed him a yellow envelope. Dick toreit open. It was a telegram sent by Dave Darrin, on the way toTottenville, and read:
"Fred Ripley said he heard insult offered you by Dodge yesterday. Get case adjourned to Monday and Ripley will testify in your behalf."
Smiling, Dick passed the message to his father. Mr. Prescott, after scanning the telegram, rose gravely, crossed the room and handed the slip of paper to Lawyer Ripley.
"If the court please, we are now ready with this case," announcedLawyer Ripley.
"Proceed, counselor. Mr. Clerk, you will swear such witnesses as are to be called."
"If the court please," hastily interjected Mr. Ripley. "I don't believe it is going to be necessary to call any witnesses. With the court's permission I will first make a few explanations."
"This case, your Honor, is one in which Albert Dodge, a minor, with the consent of his father, has preferred a charge of aggravated assault against Richard Prescott, a minor.
"That there was a fight, and that said Prescott did vigorously assault young Dodge, there is no doubt. Prescott himself does not deny it. But I am satisfied, if it please the court, that the case is one in which, on the evidence, young Prescott is bound to be discharged. I am satisfied that young Prescott had abundant provocation for the assault he committed. Further, we have received apparently satisfactory assurance by wire that a witness is prepared to testify to conduct and speech, on the part of young Dodge, that would justify an assault, or, as the boys call it, 'a fight.' Now, your Honor, if the prisoner, Prescott, through his father, will agree to hold the elder Dodge blameless in the matter of civil damages on account of this arrest, I shall move to have the case dismissed."
"Will you so agree, Mr. Prescott," inquired the court, glancing at Dick's father.
"Yes," agreed the elder Prescott, "though I must offer my opinion that this arrest has been a shameful outrage."
"My client, the elder Dodge——-" began Lawyer Ripley, in a low voice.
"Case dismissed," broke in Justice Vesey briskly, and Mr. Ripley did not finish his remark.
Bowing to the court, Dick rose, picked up his hat and started out with his father.
But once outside Herr Schimmelpodt caught them both by the arm.
"Vait!" he commanded. "I much vant to hear me vot Lawyer Ripley haf to say to dot young scallavag."
"Are you talking about me?" demanded Bert Dodge, flushingly hotly, for, just at that moment, he turned out of the court room into the corridor.
"Maybe," assented Herr Schimmelpodt.
"Then stuff a sausage in your Dutch mouth, and be quiet," retortedBert impudently.
"Young man, if your father hat not enough gontrol of er you, den I vill offer him dot I teach you manners by a goot spanking," replied Herr Schimmelpodt stiffly.
"Bert, you will be silent before your elders," ordered Mr Dodge."You have come close enough to getting me into trouble today.Had I understood the whole story of the fight, as I do now, Inever would have backed your application for a warrant."
If you meet with any rebuke from young Prescott's friends, take it in meekness, for you richly deserve censure."
"As you are only a boy, Bert, and I am your father's lawyer," broke in Mr. Ripley, even more sternly, "I have used whatever powers of persuasion I may have to have this case ended mildly. The Prescotts might have sued your father for a round sum in damages for false arrest. And, if you and Bayliss had sworn falsely as to the nature and causes of the fight, you might both have been sent away to the reformatory on charges of perjury. Remember that the law against false swearing applies to boys as much as it does to men. And now, good day, Mr. Dodge. I trust you will be able to convince your son of his wrongdoing."
However, the elder Dodge, despite his momentary sternness, was not a parent who exercised much influence over his son. Half an hour later Bert had out the family runabout, making fast time toward Tottenville.
"Bert," said Bayliss, rather soberly, "I'm inclined to think thatLawyer Ripley was good enough to get us out of a fearful scrape."
"That's what he's paid for," sniffed Bert "He's my father's lawyer."
"Then I'm glad your father has a good lawyer. Whew! It makes me sick when I stop to think that we might have been trapped into giving—-er—-prejudiced testimony, and that then we might have been shipped off to the reformatory until we're of age!"
"Ain't Fred Ripley the sneak, though!" ejaculated Bert angrily. "The idea of him standing ready to 'queer' a case against his father's clients! I thought Fred had more class and caste than to go against his own crowd for the sake of a mere mucker!"
"Well, the thing turned out all right, anyway," muttered Bayliss."We're off in time to see the game."
"And that's more than Dick Prescott will do today," laughed Bert sullenly. "He can't catch a train to Tottenville, now, in time for the game."
"If Gridley loses the game today," hinted Bayliss, "I suppose the fellows will all feel that it was because Prescott didn't go along. Then they'll all feel like roasting us."
"Oh, bother what the High School ninnies think—-or say," gruntedBert.
Fifteen minutes later there was a loud popping sound. Then a tire flattened out, so that it became necessary for the young men to get out and busy themselves with putting on another tire. At this task they did not succeed very well until, finally, another automobilist came along and gave the boys effective help.
So it was that, by the time the pair reached Tottenville, housed the car at a garage, and reached Tottenville's High School athletic field, the game was well on.
As the two young men reached the grand stand the Gridley contingent were on their feet, breathless.
Gridley had the ball down to the ten-yard line from Tottenville's goal. Captain Wadleigh's signals were ringing out, crisp and clear. A whistle sounded.
Then the ball was put swiftly into play. Tottenville put up a sturdy resistance against Gridley's left end.
Dave Darrin had the ball, and appeared to be trying to break through the Tottenville line, well backed by Gridley's interference.
Of a sudden there was a subtle, swift pass, and Gridley's left end darted along, almost parallel with the ten-yard line, then made a dashing cut around and past Tottenville.
Two of the home team tackled that left end, but he shook them off. In another instant——-
"Touchdown!" yelled the frantic Gridley boosters.
"Touchdown! Oh, you Darrin! Oh, you Prescott!"
Bert Dodge rubbed his eyes.
"Prescott?" he muttered.
"Blazes, but that is Prescott!" faltered Bayliss, with a sickly grin.
"How did he ever get over here in time to play?" demanded BertDodge.
Herr Schimmelpodt could have told. The stout, sport-loving old contractor had parted with some of his greenbacks to a chauffeur who had put Dick and himself over the long road to Tottenville. And the young left end was playing, today, in his finest form!
It was Dave Darrin who kicked the goal. This ran the score up to six to nothing in Gridley's favor.
It was the first scoring in a game that had begun by looking all bad for Gridley.
The Tottenville High School boys were bigger than the visitors and fully as speedy.
In fact, even now, to impartial observers, it looked as though these six points on the score had been won by what was little better than a fluke.
"Gridley can't keep this up," remarked the Tottenville boosters confidently. "They'll lose their wind and nerve against our fine line before the game is much older."
The first half went out with score unchanged. But Captain Wadleigh did heave a sigh of relief when the time keeper cut in on that first half.
"Fellows, look out for the fine points," he warned his fellows, after they had trotted into quarters. "It'll be craft, not strong rush, that wins for us today, if anything does."
"Prescott's here. He and Darrin can put anything over in the line of craft," laughed Fred Ripley.
Ripley was in togs, but was not playing. He was on the sub line, today, awaiting a call in case any player of his team became disabled.
"Darrin and Prescott are all right," nodded Wadleigh gruffly. "But they have endurance limits, like other human beings. Don't rely too much upon any two or three men, fellows. Now, in the second half"—-here Wadleigh lowered his voice—-"I'm going to spare Prescott and Darrin all I can. So you other fellows look out for hard work."
Dick's eyes were still flashing. This was not from the fever of the game, but from the recollection of how narrowly he had escaped being tricked out of this chance to play today.
On his arrival, and while dressing before the game, Prescott had related to the team the mean trick that had been played upon him. He had also told how the case came out in court.
"Dodge and Bayliss are traitors to the school!" cried Purcell indignantly. "We'll have to give 'em the silence!"
"Hear! Hear!" cried several of the fellows.
This, in other words, meant that Dodge and Bayliss would be "sent to Coventry"—-shut out from all social contact with the school body during the remainder of the school year.
"I think I'm with you, fellows," nodded Captain Wadleigh. "However, remember that the football team can't settle all school questions. We'll take this up when we get back to Gridley."
In the second half it was not long before Gridley did go stale and tired. But so, too, to the disgust of home boosters, did the Tottenville High School boys.
The game became a sheer test of endurance. Gridley, under Wadleigh, played with a doggedness that made Tottenville put forth all its strength.
"Brace up, you lobsters," growled Captain Grant of the home team, after the whistle had sounded on Tottenville's "down" with the ball. "Buck the simple Gridley youths. Wade through their line as if you fellows were going to dinner half an hour late. Don't let them wind you, or stop you!"
Tottenville threw all its force into the following plays. Surely, doggedly, the home boys forced the ball down the gridiron. At last Gridley was forced to make a safety, thus scoring two points for their opponents.
"Don't let that happen again, fellows," urged Wadleigh anxiously."Fight for time, but don't throw any two-spots away."
"Rally, men! Brace! Crush 'em!" ordered Captain Grant. "Seven minutes left! We've got to score."
These muttered orders caused a grim smile among the Tottenville High School boys, for the only way to tie the score would be to force Gridley to make two more safeties—-a hard thing to do against a crack eleven in seven minutes!
Dick and Dave Darrin were called into play as soon as the visitors had the ball in their own hands once more.
The "trick" signal sounded from quarter-back's lips.
"One—-three—-seven—-eleven!"
There was instant, seemingly sly activity on the part of Gridley's right wing. Those from Gridley who stood on the grand stand thought that the coming play looked bad in advance.
"Why don't they use Prescott again?" asked some one anxiously."He has been having a vacation."
Then followed the snap-back. Quarter-back started with the ball, and it looked as though he would dash for the right.
The quarter took one step, then wheeled like lightning, and rushed after Darrin, who already was in swift motion.
Gridley's whole line switched for the left.
Tottenville found out the trick after the heaviest fellows in its line had started for Gridley's right.
"Oh, Darrin—-sprint! Oh, you Prescott!"
Truly the boosters were howling themselves hoarse.
There was frenzy on in an instant.
To the knowing among the watchers there was no chance for Gridley to rush down on the enemy's goal line, but every yard—-every foot, now—-carried the pigskin just so much further from Gridley's goal line.
Gridley's interference rushed in solidly about Dave Darrin, as though to boost him through.
Dick seemed bent on beating down some of the formation surging against the visitors.
Just as the bunch "clumped" Dave Darrin went down. There was a surge over him, and then Dick Prescott was seen racing as though for life.
There was no opposition left—-only Tottenville's quarter-back and the fullback.
Tottenville's quarter got after fleeting Dick too late, for the whole movement had been one of startling trickery.
One Tottenville halfback was too far away to make an obstructing dash in time.
In dodging the other halfback Dick dashed on as though not seeing the fellow. This, however, was all trick. Just in the nick of time Prescott, still holding the ball, ducked and dodged far to the left, getting around his man.
Tottenville's fullback was now the sole hope of the home team.
Prescott, however, dodged that heavy fellow, also.
From the Gridley boosters on the grand stand went up a medley of yells that dinned in the young left end's ears. Panting, all but fainting, Dick was over the enemy's goal line and he had the ball down.
When Dave had emerged from that fruitless clumping he had a broad grin on his face. He saw that while Dick was not yet over the goal line, only the fullback was in the way and the fullback was no match for Dick in the matter of speed.
Then the yells told the rest. Back came the ball. Captain Wadleigh nodded to Dave to kick the goal.
Captain Grant looked utterly wild. He had assured everyone in Tottenville who had asked him that the Gridley "come ons" would be eaten alive. And here——-!
Dave made the kick. After going down in that bunch Darrin was not at his best. Body and nerves were tired. He failed to kick the goal.
Hardly, however, had the two teams been started in a new line-up when the time keeper did his trick. The game was over.
That last kick had failed, but who cared? The score was eleven to two!
Ere the players could escape from the field the Gridley boosters were over on the gridiron.
Dick and Dave were bodily carried to dressing quarters. Wadleigh, who had shown fine generalship in this stiff game was cheered until the boosters went hoarse.
"Gentlemen," cried Coach Morton, raising his voice to its fullest carrying power as the dressing quarters filled, "it's probably too early to brag, but I feel that we've got an old-fashioned Gridley eleven this year."
"Ask Grant!"
"Ask anybody in Tottenville!"
The first yell was sent up by Ripley, the second by another substitute.
All the Gridley members of the team were excited at the close of this game. Not even their weariness kept down their spirits.
Herr Schimmelpodt didn't attempt to enter quarters. He was now too much of a "sport" to attempt that. But he stood just outside the door, vigorously mopping his shining, wet face.
There were two extra places in the German's hired car. Dave, of course, was asked to fill one of these, and Captain Wadleigh was invited to take the fifth seat.
More dejected than ever were Bert Dodge and his chum, Bayliss, as they slouched away from the grounds. They did not attempt to invade the gridiron and join in the triumphal procession to quarters.
"You can't seem to down that fellow Prescott," muttered Bayliss, in disgust. "Just as you think you've got him by the throat you find out that he's sitting on your chest and pulling your hair."
"Oh, I don't know," growled Dodge sulkily. "He may have his weak spot, and it may be a very weak spot at that."
The pair moped along until they reached the garage in which they had left the runabout.
Bayliss was standing near the doorway, while Bert inspected the machinery of the car.
"Pest! Look out there," muttered Bayliss, stepping back from the open doorway.
"What is it?" demanded Bert. "Oh, I see! Old Schimmelpodt brought the beggar Prescott over here in an auto. That's how the fellow managed to get into the game, after all. Well, what of it all, anyway?"
"That car is running along slowly, and it has a full-sized crowd in it," muttered Bayliss, going closer to his crony. "Wadleigh, Prescott and Darrin—-and maybe the chauffeur is a thick friend of theirs."
"What on earth are you driving at?" demanded Dodge, glancing up.
"Bert, I don't believe I'm wholly stuck on the scheme of us driving back to Gridley. There are too many lonely spots along the road.
"Do you think they'd assassinate us?" jeered Bert.
"I—-I think Wadleigh may have formed the notion of stopping us and giving us a thrashing," responded Bayliss.
"Bosh!" snapped Dodge quickly.
Yet, none the less, he paused and looked thoughtful.
"There's more than one road to Gridley, old fellow," muttered Bert uneasily. "You see Schimmelpodt and that mocker didn't pass us on the way here."
"But I think they're likely to have guessed our road," persisted Bayliss. "There was an ugly look on Wadleigh's face, too, as that car drove past here."
"But old Schimmelpodt wouldn't stand for anything disorderly and—-unlawful," urged Bert.
"I don't know about that," retorted Bayliss significantly. "That old German has gone crazy over High School sports. He might stand in for 'most anything. You know, he offered your Dad to give you a spanking this afternoon."
The thought of Herr Schimmelpodt's big and capable-looking hands caused Bert to shiver a bit uneasily. Yet he didn't want to admit that he was scared. He glanced at his watch.
"We've time to catch the regular train back, I suppose, Bayliss."
"Let's do it, then," begged the other.
"Will you pay a chauffeur to take this car home, then?"
"I'll pay half," volunteered Bayliss eagerly.
"All right, then; if you're pretty near broke, we'll divide the cost," agreed Dodge.
An arrangement was easily made with the owner of the garage. Then, the charges paid, this pair of cronies, who considered themselves much better than the usual run of High School boys, hurried over to the railway station.
The train was waiting by the time that the pair arrived. Bert and Bayliss hastily purchased tickets, then boarded the handiest car. The train proved to contain few people except the Gridley student body and boosters from that town.
"Here, what are you fellows doing in here?" angrily demanded Purcell, as the cronies entered one of the cars.
"We're going to ride to Gridley, if you've no objections," repliedBert, with sulky defiance.
"No, sir; not in this car!" declared Purcell promptly. "Too many decent people here. The cattle car for yours!"
"Oh, shut up!" retorted Dodge, trying to shove into a vacant seat.
But Purcell gripped him and pushed him back.
"No, siree! Not in here! The cattle car is your number."
"You——-"
"We'll pitch you off the train if you have the cheek to try to ride in this ear," insisted Purcell.
High School boys, when off on a junket of this kind, are likely to be as wild as college boys. A score of the Gridley youths now jumped up. It looked as though there were going to be a riot.
"Oh, come on," snarled Bayliss, plucking his crony's sleeve."We don't want to ride with this truck, anyway."
Into the next car stamped the two young men, their faces red with anger and shame.
"Sneaks!" piped up some one.
At the instant of their entrance into the car the air had been full of merry chatter.
There were many High School girls in this car, and not many vacant seats.
As the word "sneaks" sounded through the car everyone turned around.
Bert and Bayliss found themselves uncomfortably conspicuous.
At once all the talk and laughter ceased. Stony silence followed.
One of the girls was sitting alone in a seat.
Bayliss, unable to endure the situation any longer, glided forward, dropping into the vacant place.
"That seat is engaged," the girl coolly informed him.
So Bayliss, redder than ever, hurriedly rose.
Bert had already started for the next car. Bayliss slunk along after him.
"Sneaks!" cried some one, as they showed their faces in still the next car forward.
Here, too, all the chatter stormed at once.
Bert, pulling his hat down over his eyes, went hurriedly past the boys and girls of Gridley, and into the next car.
Bayliss followed with the fidelity and closeness of a little dog.
Now, the next car ahead proved to be the smoking car. Here, at any rate, the despised pair could find safe harborage.
But one of the men of Gridley, who had followed the football team this day, and who had got an inkling of the story of the arrest, removed a cigar from between his lips and pointed an accusing finger at the boys.
"See here, you fellows!" he shouted. "This car is exclusively for men. Can you take a hint?"
"But we've got to sit somewhere," flashed Bert defiantly.
"I don't know as that's necessary, either," retorted the Gridley man. "At least, I don't care if it is. After your dirty little trick, today, we don't want you in here among men. Do we, neighbors?"
There were many mutterings, some cat-calls and at least a score of men rose.
"You let me alone, you fellows!" yelled Bert Dodge, as he made a break for the front end of the car. "Don't any of you dare to get fresh with me!"
By the time he had reached the front end of the car Bert was almost sobbing with anger and shame.
Bayliss had followed, white and silent.
In the baggage car, to their relief, the sole railway employee there did not object to their presence.
Bert and his crony found seats on two trunks side by side.
"Dodge," whispered Bayliss unsteadily, after the train had pulled out from Tottenville, "I'm afraid we're in bad with the school push."
"Afraid?" sneered Bert. "Man, don't you know it?"
"Well, it's all your fault—-this whole confounded row!"
"Oh, you're going to play welsher, are you?" sneered Bert. "Humph!By morning you'll be a full-fledged mucker!"
"Don't you worry about that," argued Bayliss, though rather stiffly."I know my family—-and my caste."
"I should hope so," rejoined Dodge, with just a shade more cordiality.
Rather than alight at Gridley, and face the whole High School crowd—-for scores who had not been able to meet the expense of the trip to Tottenville would be sure to be at the station to meet the victorious team—-Bert and Bayliss rode on to the next station, then got off and walked two miles back to town.
By Monday morning the punishment of the pair was made complete.
Bert and Bayliss walked to school together. As they drew near the grounds both young men felt their hearts beating faster.
"I wonder if there's anything in for us?" whispered Dodge.
"Sure to be," responded Bayliss.
"Well, the fellows had better not try anything too frisky. If they do, they'll give us a chance to make trouble for 'em!"
It seemed as though the full count of the student body, boys and girls, had assembled in the yard this morning.
All was gay noise until the pair of cronies appeared at the gate.
Then, swiftly, all the noise died out.
One could hardly hear even a breath being drawn.
The silence was complete as Bert and Bayliss, now very white, stepped into the yard.
Though not a voice sounded, every eye was turned on the white-faced pair.
Bert Dodge's lips moved. He tried to summon us control enough of his tongue to utter some indifferent remark to his companion.
But the sound simply wouldn't come.
After a walk that was only a few yards in distance, yet seemed only less than a mile in length, the humiliated pair rushed up the steps, opened the great door and let themselves in.
At recess neither Bayliss nor Dodge had the courage to appear outside. As they left school that afternoon they were treated to the same dose of "silence."
Tuesday morning neither Dodge nor Bayliss showed up at all at school.
On Thursday morning High School readers of "The Blade" were greatly interested in the following personal paragraph:
"Bayliss and Dodge, both of the senior class, High School, have severed their connection with that institution. It is understood that the young men are going elsewhere in search of better educational facilities."
That was all, but it told the boys and girls at Gridley High School all that they needed to know.
"That is the very last gasp of the 'sorehead' movement," grinnedTom Reade, in talking it over with Dan Dalzell.
"Well, they did the whole trick for themselves," rejoined Dan. "No one else touched them, or pushed them. They took all the rope they wanted—-and hanged themselves. Now, that pair will probably feel cheap every time they have to come back to Gridley and walk the streets."
"All they had to do was to be decent fellows," mused Tom. "But the strain of decency proved to be too severe for them."
In the High School yard that Thursday morning there was one unending strain of rejoicing.
Some of the other late "soreheads," who had escaped the full meed of humiliation—-Davis, Cassleigh, Fremont, Porter and others—-actually sighed with relief when they found what they had escaped in the way of ridicule and contempt.
"The whole thing teaches us one principle," muttered Fremont to Porter.
"What is that?"
"Never tackle the popular idol in any mob. If you can't get along with him, avoid him—-but don't try to buck him!"
"Humph!" retorted Porter. "If you mean Prescott and his gang—-Dick & Co., as the fellows call them—-I can follow one part of your advice by avoiding them. I never did and never could like that mucker Prescott!"
The fact of interest to Dick would have been that he appeared to enjoy the respect of at least ninety-five per cent. of the student body of the High School.
Surely that percentage of popularity is enough for anyone. The fellow can get along without the approbation of a few "soreheads"!
If Dodge and Bayliss devoted any time to farewells among their late fellow-students before quitting Gridley the fact did not seem to leak out.
Yet despite the absence of two young men who considered themselves of such great importance the Gridley High School appeared to go on about the same as ever.
It was the season of football, and nearly of the school's interest and enthusiasm seemed to spend itself in that direction. Coach Morton did all in his power to push the team on to perfection; the other teachers worked harder than ever to keep the interest of the students sufficiently on their studies. The girls, as well as the boys, suffered from the infection of the gridiron microbe.
Five more games with other High School teams were fought out, and now Gridley had an unbroken record of victories so far for the season.
Such a history can often be built up in the athletics of a High School, but it has to be a school attended by the cream of young manhood and having an abundance of public interest and enthusiasm behind it all.
Not at any time in the season did Coach Morton allow the training work to slacken. Regularly the entire squad turned out for field work. If the afternoon proved to be stormy, then four blasts on the city fire alarm, at either two o'clock or two-thirty, notified the young men that they were to report at the gym. instead. There, the work, though different, was just as severe. The result was that every youngster in the squad "reeked" with good condition all through the season.
It is in just this respect that many a High School eleven fails to "make really good." In a team where discipline is lax some of the fellows are sure to rebel at spending "all their time training." Where the coach exercises too limited authority, or when he is too "easy," the team's record is sure to suffer in consequence. Many a High School eleven comes out a tail-ender just because the coach is not strict enough, or cannot be. Many a team composed of naturally husky and ambitious boys fails on account of a light-weight coach. On the other hand, the best coach in the country can't make a winning eleven out of fellows who won't work or be disciplined.
Coach Morton's authority was unbounded. After the team had been organized for the season it took action by the Athletics Committee of the Alumni Association to drop a man from the team. But coach and captain could drop the offender back to the "sub" seats and keep him there. Moreover, it was well known that Mr. Morton's recommendation that a certain young man be dropped was all the hint that the Athletics Committee needed.
Under failing health, or when duties prevented full attention to football training, a member of the team was allowed to resign. But an offending member couldn't resign. He was dropped, and in the eyes of the whole student body being dropped signified deep disgrace.
In five out of the won games Dick Prescott had played left end, and without accident. Yet, as it was wholly possible that he might be laid up at any instant, the coach was assiduously training Dan Dalzell and Tom Reade to play at either end of the line. Other subs were rigorously trained for other positions, but Dan and Tom were regarded as the very cream of the sub players in the light-weight positions.
Dan had played left end in one of the lesser gables, and had shown himself a swift, brilliant gridironist, though he was not quite as crafty as Prescott.
Tom Reade had less of strategy than Dan but relied more upon great bursts of speed and in the sheer ability to run away from impending tackle.
Now the boys were training for the team's eighth game, the one to be played against the Hepburn Falls High School, a strong organization.
"Remember that a tie saves the record, but that it doesn't look as well as a winning," Coach Morton coaxed the squad dryly, as they started in for afternoon practice.
"We miss the mascot that the earlier High School teams used to have," remarked Hudson.
"Yes? What was it?" inquired coach.
"Why, bully old Dr. Thornton used to drop in for a few minutes, 'most every practice afternoon?" replied Hudson. "I can remember just how his full, kindly old face, with the twinkling eyes, used to encourage the fellows up to the prettiest work that was in then. Oh, he was a mascot—-Dr. Thornton was!"
Coach Morton was of the same mind, but he didn't say so, as it would sound like a rejection on the present unpopular principal, Abner Cantwell.
This afternoon there was no real team practice Mr. Morton wanted certain individual play features brought out more strongly. One of these was the kicking of the ball.
After several had worked with the pigskin Morton called out:
"Now, Prescott, you take the ball, and drop back to the twenty-five-yard line. When you get there name your shot—-that is, tell us where you intend to put the ball. Where doesn't matter as long as it is a long kick and a true one. After you name your shot, then run swiftly to the center of the field. From there, without a long pause, kick and see how straight you can drive for the point you have named."
"All right, sir," nodded Dick. Tucking the pigskin under his arm, he jogged back to the twenty-five-yard line.
"Right over there!" called Dick, pointing. "I'll try to drop the ball in the front row of seats, second section past the entrance."
"Very good, Prescott!"
No one was sitting in the section named by Prescott, but a few onlookers who had been squatting in a section near by hastily moved.
"The duffers! They needn't think I am going to hit them with the ball," muttered Dick. Then he started on a hard run.
Just at center he stopped abruptly, swung back his right foot and dropped the ball.
It was a hard, fast drive. The ball arched upward, somewhat, though it did not travel high.
But to Dick, standing still to watch the effect of his kick there came a sudden jolt. A man had just appeared, walking through the entrance passage. His head, well up above the sloping sides of the passage at this point, was not right in line with the ball.
And that man was Principal Cantwell!
Several members of the squad saw what might happen, but every one of them was too eagerly expectant to make a sound to prevent the threatened catastrophe.
Dick saw and half shivered. Yet in his desire to say something in the fewest words of warning, all he could think of was:
"Low bridge!"
Nor did Coach Morton succeed in thinking of anything more helpful, for he shouted only:
"Mr. Cantwell!"
"Eh?" asked the principal, turning toward the coach and therefore not seeing the ball that was now nearly upon him.
Mr. Cantwell, on this afternoon, having a few calls in mind, had arrayed himself in his best. He wore a long black frock coat which, he imagined, made him look at least as distinguished as a diplomat. In the matter of silk hats, being decidedly economical, Mr. Cantwell allowed himself a new one only once in two years. But new one had been due; he had just bought one, and now wore this glossy thing in the latest style.
There was no time for more warning.
The descending ball was in straight line with that elegant hat.
Bump! The pigskin struck the hat full and fair, carrying it from the principal's head.
On sailed hat and football for some three feet, the hat managing to run upside down.
R-r-r-rip! The force with which the football was traveling impaled the hat on a picket at the side of the stand. Then, as if satisfied with fits work, the football struck and bounded back, landing at the principal's feet.
For one moment Mr. Cantwell was dumb with amazement.
Then he saw his impaled hat and realized the extent and tragedy of his loss. The angered man went white with wrath.
"What ruffian did that!" he roared.
But the boys, unable to hold in any longer, had let out a concerted though half-suppressed "whoop!" and now came running to the spot.
"Who kicked my hat off?" demanded the principal, pointing tragically to the piece of headgear, through the crown and past the rim of which the picket now stood up as though in triumph.
"You—-you got in the way of—-the ball, sir," explained Drayne, trying hard to keep from roaring out with laughter.
"But some one kicked the ball my way," insisted the principal, with utter sternness. "Don't tell me that no one did! That football could not By through the air without some one propelling it. Now, young gentlemen, who kicked that ball?"
"I did, Mr. Cantwell," admitted Dick, pushing his way through the throng. "And I'm very sorry that anything like this has happened, sir."
"On, you did it, oh?" demanded the principal, eyeing the young man witheringly. "And you actually expect an apology to restore my new and expensive hat to its former pristine condition of splendor?"
"I didn't know you were there, sir," Dick explained. "You didn't appear until just after I had kicked the ball."
"Prescott is quite right, Mr. Cantwell," put in Coach Morton. "None of us knew you were here in the passage until the ball had been kicked—-not, in fact, until the ball was almost upon you."
"Then, when you saw me, why didn't you call out to warn me?" demanded the principal, still fearfully angry, though trying to keep back unparliamentary language.
"I did call out, sir," replied Dick. "There was mighty little time to think, but I called out the two quickest words I could think of."
"What did you call?" demanded the principal.
"I yelled 'low bridge!'"
"A most idiotic expression," snorted the principal. "What on earth does it mean, anyway?"
"It means to duck, sir," Prescott answered.
"Duck?" retorted Mr. Cantwell, glaring suspiciously at the sober-faced young left end. "Now, what on earth does 'duck' mean, unless you refer to a web-footed species of poultry?"
"Prescott was rattled, beyond a doubt, Mr. Cantwell," interposed Coach Morton. "So was I—-the time was so short. All I could think of as to call out to you by name."
"With the result that I looked your way—- and lost my row hat," snapped the principal. He now turmoil to take the spoiled article off the paling. He looked at it almost in anguish, for he had been very proud of that glossy article.
"It's a shame," muttered Drayne, with mock sympathy.
"That's what it is," agreed Dave Darrin innocently. "But—-Mr. Morton—-I think the matter can be fixed satisfactorily. If you call this to the attention of the Athletics Committee won't they vote to appropriate the price of a new hat out of the High School athletics fund? You know, the fund is almost overburdened with money this year."
"That might not be a bad idea," broke in the principal eagerly."Will you call this to the attention of the Committee, Mr. Morton,For it was in coming here to watch the young men that I lost myfine, new hat."
"Now, I'm heartily sorry," replied Mr. Morton, "but I am certain the members of the committee will feel that money contributed by the citizens of the town can hardly be expended in purchasing hats for anyone."
"But——-" Mr. Cantwell began to expostulate. Then he stopped, very suddenly. Just as plainly as anyone else present the principal now saw the absurdity of expecting a new hat out of the athletics fund. Mr. Cantwell shot a very savage look at innocent-appearing Dave Darrin.
"My afternoon is spoiled, as well as my hat," remarked the principal, turning to leave with as much dignity as could be expected from man who bore such a battered hat in his hands.
"The hatter might be able to block your hat out and repair it," suggested Hudson, though without any real intention of offering aid. "Our coachman had that sort of trick done to played-out old silk hat that Dad gave him."
"Mr. Hudson," returned the principal, turning and glaring at this latest polite tormentor, "will you be good enough to remember that I am not extremely interested in your family history.
"Back to your practice, men!" called the coach sharply, after the last had been seen of the back of the principal's black coat.
"It was too bad!" muttered Dick, in a tone of genuine regret.
"Say that again, and I'll make an effort to thrash you, Prescott!" challenged Hudson, with a grin.
"Well, I am sorry it happened," Dick insisted. "And mighty sorry, too."
"You couldn't help it."
"I know it, but that hardly lessens my regret. I don't enjoy the thought of having destroyed anyone else's property, even if I couldn't help it and can't be blamed.
"Prescott said he didn't know I was there!" exclaimed Mr. Cantwell angrily to himself. "Bosh! That boy has been a thorn in my side ever since I became principal of the school. Of course he saw me—-and he kicked wonderfully straight! Oh, how I wish I could make him wear this hat every day during the balance of the school year! Such a handsome hat—-eight dollars!"
"It's a shame to tell you," confided Dave Darrin, as he and Dick headed the sextette of chums on the homeward tramp, "but you're certainly looking in great condition, old fellow."
"I feel simply perfect, physically," Dick replied. "I have, in fact, ever since I first began to train in the baseball squad last season. It's wonderful what training does for a fellow! I know there's a heap of bad condition in the world, but I often wonder why there is. Why, Dave, I ought to knock wood, of course, but I feel so fine that it seems as though nothing could put me out of form."
At that moment young Prescott had no idea how easily a few minutes could bring one from the best possible condition to the brink of physical despair.
"Only a team of fools would hope to stop Gridley High School this year."
Thus stated the Elliston "Tribune" after Gridley had walked through Elliston High School, one of the strongest school teams of the state, by a score of eight to nothing.
That copy of "The Tribune" found its way over to Gridley, and fell into the hands of some of the High School boys.
"Be careful, young men," warned Mr. Morton. "Don't get it too seriously into your heads that you can't be beaten, or your downfall will date from that hour. The true idea is not that on can't be beaten, but that you won't. Stick to the latter idea as well as you do to your training, and it will be a good eleven, indeed, that can get a game away from you."
"Only two more to play this year, anyway," replied Hudson. "We can't lose much."
"The team might lose two, and that would a worse record than anyGridley eleven has made in five years," retorted Mr. Morton dryly.
"We won't lose 'em, though," rejoined Tom Reade. "Every fellow in the squad is in a conspiracy to pull the eleven through the next two games—-by its hair, if necessary."
"That line of thought is better than conceit," smiled the coach.
The game with Paunceboro High School came off, one of the most stubbornly fought battles that Gridley had ever entered. It seemed impossible to score against this enemy.
Again and again Dick broke around the left end in a spirited dash, or Dan Dalzell made one of his swift sorties at right end. Then, by the time that Paunceboro had grown used to end dashes, Gridley would make a smashing charge at center.
All these styles of attack, however, Paunceboro met smilingly.In the first half there was no score.
Yet Paunceboro did not succeed any better in getting through or around Gridley's line of flexible human steel. Until within ten minutes before the close of the second half, it looked like a tie between giants of the school gridiron.
Then, by a series of feints in which Prescott, Darrin, Drayne and Hudson bore off the most brilliant honors, although all under Wadleigh's planning, Paunceboro was sorely pressed down against its own goal line.
Just in the nick of time Paunceboro made a safety, and thus sent the ball back up the field. But it cost Paunceboro two reluctantly-given points, and that was the score—-two to nothing.
Gridley was still victor in every game so far played in the season.November was now far along, and there remained only the greatThanksgiving Day game. This contest, against Filmore High School,was to be fought out on the Gridley field.
"Your football season will soon be over, Dick," remarked LauraBentley, one afternoon when Prescott and Darrin, on their wayback from coach's gridiron grilling, met Laura and Belle on MainStreet.
"This season will soon be over," replied Dick "but I hope for another next year."
"And then, perhaps, at college?" hinted Belle.
"If we go to college," replied Dick slowly.
"Why? Don't you expect to?" asked Laura, in some surprise.
"We are not sure," murmured Dick, "that we want to go to college."
"Why, I thought both of you were ambitious for higher education," cried Belle.
"So we are," nodded Dave.
"Oh! Then, if not to college, you are going to some scientific school?" guessed Laura.
"I wonder if you two could keep a secret?" laughed Dick teasingly.
"Try us!" challenged Belle Meade.
Dick glanced at Dave, who gave a barely perceptible nod.
"No; we won't try you," retorted Dick "We'll trust you, without any promise on your part."
"Good!" cried Laura, in a gratified tone.
"Well?" inquired Belle, as neither boy spoke.
"It's just here, then," Prescott went on, in a low tone, after glancing around to make sure that no one else was within hearing. "The Congressman from this district, in a year or so more, will have the filling of a vacancy at West Point. That means a cadetship from this district. Now, a Congressman can appoint a cadet as a matter of favoritism, or to pay a political debt to some relative of the boy he so appoints. But the custom, in this district, has always been for the Congressman to appoint the boy who comes out best in a competitive examination. The examination is thrown open to all boys, of proper age, who can first pass a good physical examination."
"So you're both going to try for it?" asked Belle quickly.
"No," retorted Dave very quickly. "That would make us rivals.Dick and I don't want to be rivals."
"Then where do you come in?" asked Belle, glancing curiously atDarrin.
"Whisper!" replied Dave, looking mischievously mysterious. After a pause he continued, almost in a whisper:
"At just about the same time there will be a vacancy at Annapolis. So while Dick is trying to get a job carrying the banner for the Army, it will be little David trying for a chance to be a second Farragut in the Navy."
Dick winced at his chum's rather slighting allusion to an Army career, but on this one point of preference in the way of the service, the two chums were willing to disagree. Darrin wouldn't have gone to West Point if he could. Dick admitted the greatness of the American Navy, but all his heart was set on the Army.
"Both of you boys, then, are planning to give up your lives to the Flag?" exclaimed Laura.
"Yes," nodded Dick; "do you think it's foolish?"
"I think it's glorious!" breathed Laura.
"So do I," agreed Belle heartily; "though, like Dave, I should think the Navy would be the more attractive."
"Oh, the Navy is all right," gibed Dick. "It would never suit me, though. You see, a fellow in the Navy has nothing to do but ride into a fight on board a first-class ship. It's too much like being a Cook's tourist war time. Now, any Army officer, or a private soldier, for that matter, has to depend upon his own physical exertions to get him into the fight."
"And an Army fellow," twitted Dave, "if he finds the fight too hard for him, can always dig a hole and hide in it. But where can a naval officer hide?"
"Oh, he has it easy enough, anyway, hiding behind armor plate," scoffed Dick.
"Of one thing I feel certain, anyway," said Laura thoughtfully. "You are both of you cut out for the military life. Under the most fearful conditions I don't believe either one of you would ever show the white feather."
"I don't know," replied Dick gravely. "Neither one of us has ever been tested sufficiently. But I hope you're right, Laura. I'd sooner be dead, at this instant, than to feel that my cowardice would ever throw the slightest stain on the grand old Flag. I try to be generous in my opinions of others. I think I can stand almost any man except—-the coward!"
"I'm not a bit afraid of either one of you, on that score," broke in Belle warmly.
"That's very kind of you," nodded Dave. "But of course you don't know any more about our bravery than we do ourselves. It has never been proven."
"How many young men have been killed in football this year?" askedLaura quietly.
"I think the paper stated, the other day, that it was something more than forty," replied Dick.
"Well, don't you two play football," demanded Laura. "Don't you both jump into the crush as fearlessly as anyone, Doesn't it take about as much nerve to play fast and furious football as it does to fight on the battlefields Isn't football, in its hardest form, a great training for the soldiers"
"Oh, perhaps," laughed Dick. "For that matter, Laura, I believe you could soon talk me into believing that I'm braver than good old Phil Sheridan!"
"Hullo," muttered Dave suddenly. "What——-"
"Where's the crowd rushing!" demanded Belle, in the same breath.
"There's some trouble down the street!" cried Darrin. "And smoke, too."
"It's a fire!" cried Dick, wheeling about. "Come along—-all!"
As the girls started to scurry down the street Dick caught Laura's nearer arm to aid her. Dave did as much for Belle.
These four young people were among the first hundred and fifty to gather on the sidewalk before a store and office building that was on fire.
It was a five story building. Fire had started in back on the second floor. Originating in offices empty at the time, the blaze had gained good headway ere it was discovered. It had eaten up to the third and fourth floors, and was now sweeping frontward. On the third floor the heat had cracked the window glass, and the air, rushing in, had fanned up a brisk blaze. Flames were beginning to shoot out their fiery tongues through these third story windows.
"Is everyone out of that building?" demanded the policeman on the beat, rushing up. He had just learned that a citizen had gone to ring in the fire alarm, so now the policeman's next thought was directed toward life saving.
There was a quick count of those who had been in the offices on the upper floors.
On the fourth floor one suite of offices had been occupied as a china painting school. Miss Trent, the teacher, who had reached the sidewalk safely, now looked about her anxiously.
"I had only one pupil up there, Miss Grace Dodge," replied Miss Trent, hurriedly. "I called to her and then ran. Miss Dodge started after me, then rushed back to get her purse, palette and color case."
"Has anyone seen Miss Dodge?" demanded the policeman.
No one had.
"Then I'll get up there, if I can," muttered the officer.
Dropping belt and club to the sidewalk, and pulling his helmet down tight on his head, the policeman darted into the building and up the stairs.
At that moment, above the smoke and flames pouring out of the third story windows, Grace Dodge appeared at one of the windows on the fourth floor. She was hatless, and a streak of blood appeared over her left temple.
"Don't jump!" shouted several men loudly. "A policeman has just started up to get you."
Miss Dodge appeared somewhat dazed; it was a question whether she understood. But her face disappeared from the window way. To many of the horrified ones below, it appeared as though the imperiled girl had swayed dizzily away from the window, as though overcome by the heat and fumes from the windows below her.
"Where is the fire department? Is it never coming?" wailed one woman in the throng, wringing her hands.
No one here knew that the citizen who had rushed to send in the alarm had found the first box out of order. He was now rushing to another alarm box.
Out of the hallway came the policeman, white-faced and tottering weakly.
"I—-I couldn't get up much above the second floor," he gasped, in a voice out of which the strength was gone. "I—-I guess the—-heat and smoke got me! But—-some one—-must try!"
Where was that fire department?
Dick, staring over the crowd, found that all of his chums had arrived.
"Come on, fellows!" he yelled. "We've got to do something. Follow me!"
Prescott, after one swift glance at the buildings, made a dash for the door of the one just to the right of the blazing pile. Into the stairway entrance he dashed, followed by Dave Darrin, by Tom Reade, Greg Holmes, Dan Dalzell and Harry Hazelton.
"Hurrah!" yelled some one, in infectious enthusiasm. "Dick &Co. to the rescue!"