That became instantly the cry:
"Dick & Co. to the rescue!"
Yet none of the sextette heard it.
They were all inside, at the first step of their projected deed of bravery.
"All of you but Dave run through the offices!" yelled Dick. "Some of the tenants must have fire-rope coils. Grab the first rope you can find and bring it to me on the roof. Hustle! Dave, you follow me!"
Even to boys daily grilled on the football gridiron it was no mere matter of sport to dart up five flights of stairs at fast speed.
Dick Prescott was panting as he reached the roof and threw open the skylight door.
But he got out on the roof, hurrying across it, doing his best, at the same time, to gulp in chestfuls of fresh air.
Then he came to the edge of the roof next to the burning building.
The roof of that other building was about fifteen feet below theRoof on which Dick Prescott stood.
After an instant of swift calculation young Prescott jumped.
He landed, below, on the balls of his feet, though the next instant the momentum of the fall carried him forward onto his hands.
In another twinkling Prescott was up, running toward the front edge of the building.
He stopped at the skylight door, but discovered that the flames and smoke below shut off hope there. So he continued to the front of the roof.
Here Dick glanced back, for a second, to make sure that Dave had followed safely.
Darrin was on his feet, and waved his hand reassuringly.
Then Dick Prescott leaned out, peering down at the front of the burning building.
"There's Prescott!" shouted some of the most enthusiastic watchers.
"Hurrah. Old Gridley High School!"
But Dick paid no heed to the crowd. He was trying to locate the window at which Grace Dodge had appeared, and was trying to contrive how he would use a rope when one came.
In the meantime Darrin, having jumped to the lower roof, remained where he had dropped, awaiting the arrival of the other fellows with a rope.
After a few moments they came. Reade had a coil of inch rope, which he waved enthusiastically.
"Wait until we get the rope uncoiled," called Greg. "Then we'll lower some of us down to join you"
"Lower—-nothing! Jump!" yelled Dave, in a stentorian quarter-deck voice.
Greg obeyed, instanter. Tom flung the coil of rope below, then followed it. Hazelton and Dalzell, an instant later, were with their comrades.
"Come on, now," ordered Darrin, who had snatched up the coil of rope and was darting over the roof. "Dick's waiting for us."
Prescott, still looking below, heard the swish of ropes on the roof as Dave uncoiled and threw the lengths out.
"Good!" yelled Dick, looking back. "Tom, you take a turn or two of the rope around that chimney, for anchor. Dave, you stand here at the roof edge to pay out the rope. Greg, you and Dan get in behind Dave to help on the hoist. See, Dave! That third window from the end—- there's where the rope wants to go."
"You going down the rope?" queried Darrin dryly.
"Yes."
"Wait, then, and I'll tie some knots in it."
"No time for that," vetoed Dick sharply.
"I'll have to take my chances. Miss Dodge may be smothering, or burning. Pay it out—-fast!"
Dick watched until he saw that the rope had gone low enough, and that it hung before the right window.
"Now, brace yourselves, fellows!" he called, between his hands, for the roar of the flames and the crackling of timbers made some sort of trumpet necessary, even at short range.
On his knees, his back to the street, at the edge of the roof,Dick Prescott seized the rope.
Then, with a fervent inward prayer, he started over the edge, and hung in the air, eighty feet from the ground.
Down below, the ever-increasing crowd let out a cyclonic, roaring cheer. It was a foolish thing to do, for it might have rattled the young football player. But Prescott paid no attention to the racket, and kept on lowering himself, coolly.
Here was where his gym. training and all his football practice came in splendidly. Every muscle was strong, every nerve true to its duty!
Not once did Prescott fear that he would lose his grip and fall to the street below.
Up above, at the roof's edge, stood Darrin, directing as though from quarter-deck or military-top. Dave had to lean rather far out, at that great height, but it did not make him dizzy.
"There! The grand old chap has landed on the window-sill! He has gone inside!" cried Dave, turning to his comrades. "Now we can wait until we feel a signal-pull on the rope."
As he turned away from the smoke that was coming up through the air Darrin realized how much smoke he had inhaled. He thumped his chest lightly, taking deep breaths.
Dick was in the studio now.
Close to the window, where the draught was strongest, Prescott found the smoke so thick that he had to grope his way through it; but bending low, he quickly came to where Grace Dodge lay unconscious on the floor.
She looked lifeless, as she lay there.
"Whew! I'm afraid she's a goner, already!" thought Dick, with a great surge of compassion.
However, seizing the unconscious girl by the shoulders he dragged her swiftly over the floor to the window through which he had come.
The rope still dangled there.
Seizing it, Dick gave it a gentle pull—-not too hard, for fear the jerk might catch good old Dave of his guard and yank him over the roof's edge.
In another instant Darrin was "back on the job," peering down.
Dick made a signal that Dave understood perfectly.
Prescott's next care was to knot his end of the rope swiftly around Grace's body, above the waist, adjusting the coils so that considerable of the strain would come under the shoulders, where it could best be borne.
Once more Dick leaned out of the window, making motions. Dave Darrin nodded. The fascinated crowd in the street looked up, breathless. Few now even thought to wonder why the fire department did not appear.
At Dave's command the others on the roof with him began to hoist. Slowly, Dick aided Grace's body through the window. Then the girl, motionless, so far as she herself was concerned, swung in the air, slowly ascending.
Now groans of horror went up from the street. It seemed to the onlookers below as though a dead body were being hoisted.
Dick had made a loose hitch of the end of the rope so that it bound the girl's skirt about her ankles.
As he watched, he saw the swinging body steady at the roof edge. Then Grace disappeared from his sight as Dave and the others hauled her to momentary safety.
"Ugh!" gasped young Prescott. The smoke and the hot air, filling his lungs, drove him back from the open window to a spot where the draught was less intense.
After a few moments he heard something clattering against the window frame.
"What is it?" wondered Dick, dreamily, for his senses were leaving him.
Rousing himself, by a supreme effort of the will, the young football player staggered toward the window. It was the rope, which Dave had lowered for him. And thoughtful Darrin had swiftly knotted a strong slip-noose at the end.
Dick had just strength and consciousness enough left to slip this noose over his head and down under his armpits, drawing the noose tight. Then—-so fast was the hot air and smoke overcoming him that he had to fight for it!—-Dick forced his way to the sill and gave a hard tug at the rope. Then he reeled, falling back senseless upon the floor.
In that same instant, not far behind him, the flames burst through the flooring.
There must be some quick work, now, or Dick Prescott would meet a hero's death at seventeen!
Dave Darrin did not falter in his duty for an instant.
He had been waiting for that tug on the rope.
Now he leaned out, and as far over as was possible without pitching himself headlong into the street below.
"Dick! Oh, Dick!" he roared.
There was, of course, no answer, for young Prescott day senseless on the floor, smoke and hot air filling his lungs, the creeping flames threatening to pounce upon and devour him.
Wondering, Dave gave a slight signal tug himself at the rope.
From below there was no answer.
"Something uncanny has happened, down there!" muttered Darrin.
"What's wrong?" called Reade.
"I wish I knew," muttered Dave. "There is no further signaling."
"Then——-"
That was as far as Tom got with his hint at an explanation.
"Cut it," retorted Darrin briskly. "Keep the rope steady. I'm going down there."
"Can you——-"
"Yes!" blazed Dave recklessly. "Watch me. Here goes nothing!"
As the last three words left his lips Darrin swung free over the roof edge.
He was going down the straining, smooth rope now, hand under hand.
The dense crowd in the street below was quick to realize that something new and tragic was on the cards.
A gasp of suspense went up as Dave slowly went down.
Many in the street uttered a silent prayer—-for heroes are ever dear to the multitude.
Dave's task now was more dangerous than Dick's original undertaking had been.
The smoke was rolling up with ever increasing density.
"I'll close one eye, and save that to see Dick with," Darrin muttered grimly to himself.
So, with one eye closed tightly, Dave yet knew when the instant came to swing in and stand on the sill.
Opening the closed eye, Darrin sought to peer into the studio.
Such a gust of smoke came out at him that Darrin very nearly lost his balance from dizziness.
"I can't see a blessed thing in there," Dave muttered. So he sprang inside.
Now, quickly enough Dave stumbled over the prostrate figure of his unconscious comrade.
Fairly pouncing upon Prescott, Dave half raised that body, then dragged it to the window.
"Pull!" Darrin yelled up to Tom Reade, peering over the roof's edge.
Over the roar of the fire Dave's voice did not carry well, but his gesture was seen.
Reade gave the command, and the hoisting commenced, while Dave, standing at his post, though choking, and his brain reeling, swung Dick's feet clear of the sill.
Then the body began to go up quickly, while the crowd watched in greater awe than ever.
Dave Darrin leaped out upon the sill, holding a handkerchief over his mouth and nostrils in order to protect his lungs as much as possible.
With the other hand Dave clutched at the window frame, for he had a fearful dread, now that he would lose his hold, his footing and plunge headlong into the street.
Dick's body disappeared over the roof edge.
After what seemed like a short age, but what was only a few moments,Reade again showed his face, dangling the noose in his hand.
Then he let it fall until it hung close to Darrin.
Reade and the crowd alike watched breathlessly, while Dave Darrin, fumbling, almost blindly, tried to slip the noose over his head and adjust it under his shoulders.
Once he let go of the rope, half swaying out into the street.
A cry of terror went up from the spectators below.
Tom Reade carefully swung the rope back again. Dave caught it. After it had seemed as though he must fail Dave at last adjusted the noose under his armpits.
"All right!" bellowed Tom Reade, making a trumpet of his hands.
Darrin answered only by a tug on the rope. Then he hung in mid air as the hoisting began.
At that moment a new sound cane on the air. The fire department, with a short circuit somewhere in its wires, had at last been notified by telephone, and the box number was pealing out on two church bells.
Barely were Dave's feet clear of the top of the window casing when a draught drove the flames out.
His shoes were almost licked by the red tongues.
"Hurry, you hoisters!" bellowed a man in the street.
His voice did not carry, but Tom Reade and his wearied helpers were doing all that could be done by strong, willing hands.
Another and longer tongue of flame leaped out through the shattered window, and again Dave's swinging feet were all but bathed in fire.
"Thank heaven we've got you up here, old fellow!" panted Tom Reade fervently, as Dave was hauled over the roof's edge, helping himself a little.
Dave, as soon as the noose had been slipped over his head, got up on his feet, though he staggered a bit dizzily.
"We must all get back up to that roof," ordered Dave, pointing to the roof down from which they had leaped a while before.
"We can't," retorted Reade. "We'll have to wait for the firemen and their ladders."
"Ladders—-nothing!" retorted Dave, though his voice was weak and husky. "We'll make our own ladders. You, Holmes, get over against that wall. Hazelton, you beside hind Reade you climb up onto their shoulders. Now, Dan you climb up on Reade's shoulders, and you'll reach that roof up there!"
Darrin's orders were quickly carried out. This trick of wall scaling was really not difficult for football men in daily practice. Dan's head was quickly above the gutter of the next roof. He pulled himself over the edge.
"Stand by to catch the rope, Dan," shouted Dave. "Throw it to him, Tom."
Whizz-zz! whirr-rr! That rope was over the edge and in Dan's hands. Dalzell raced to a chimney, taking two or three turns around and making fast.
"Come on!" he called down.
Harry Hazelton ascended the rope hand over hand, Reade following.Then Greg Holmes went up.
Dave, in the meantime, was preparing the apparently lifeless Grace Dodge for the ascent. As he gave the signal those on the roof above hauled away.
Grace was soon in a position of safety.
Then Dick, who had not, as yet, revived, was hoisted.
"Now, we'll haul you up," called down Reade.
"Forget it," mocked Darrin. "Toss down the rope and I'll use my own muscles."
So Dave joined them and stood beside them on the roof.
"Now, we'd better make the street as soon as we can," Darrin advised. "The one who's strongest pick up Miss Dodge, and another stand by for relief. Two of you will have to tote Dick. I wish I could help, but I'm afraid my strength is 'most all out."
Dave, however, led the way. By the time that the little party had descended two flights they were met by firemen rushing up. After that the task of reaching the street was easy.
As the rescuers and rescued came out upon the street the crowd, now driven back beyond police lines, started to cheer.
But Dave's hand, held up, acted as a silencer. Dick and MissDodge were carried to a neighboring drug store for attention.
Now the firemen tried to run up ladders to the studio floor, with a view to fighting the flames by turning the stream on through the windows. Flames drove them back. The on-lookers were quick to grasp the fact that had no one acted before the arrival of the firemen, Grace Dodge would have been lost indeed. As it was, the fire fighters were obliged to fight the fire from the roof of the next building.
The office building in which the flames had started was almost gutted before the blaze was subdued.
An hour later Grace Dodge was placed in an automobile and carried to her home, a physician accompanying her.
She had revived for a brief period, but had again sunk into unconsciousness. Whether her life could be saved was a matter of the gravest doubt.
And Dick?
Young Prescott was revived soon enough, after expert assistance had been secured.
Yet he had swallowed more of the overheated air than had the girl.
In the minds of the medical men there was a grave doubt as to whether his lungs could be fully restored—-or whether he would be doomed to a spell of severe lung trouble, ending, most likely, in death at a later day!
Scores of people turned back from that fire with tears in their eyes.
They had seen this day something that they would remember all their lives.
"Dick and Dave were wondering whether they had courage enough for the military service," sobbed Laura Bentley, in the privacy of Belles room. "They have courage enough for anything!"
Dick was up and about the next day, though he did not go to school.
Moreover, later reports placed him out of serious danger. The football squad was gloomy enough, however. Their star left end man would not be in shape for the big Thanksgiving Day game.
Say, you're a great one, Prescott, to throw us down in this way," chaffed Drayne, as Dick strolled into dressing quarters.
"Oh, come, now!" broke in Darrin impatiently. "It's bad enough, Drayne, to have to play side partner to you in the biggest game in the year, without having to listen to your fat-headed criticism of better men."
Drayne flushed, and might have retorted, had not Wadleigh broken in, in measured tones, yet with much significance in his voice:
"Yes, Drayne; cut out all remarks until you've made good. Of course you are going to make good, but talk will sound better after deeds."
Most of the fellows who were togging were uneasy.
They wanted, with all their hearts, to win this day's game. First of all, the game was needed in order to preserve their record for unbroken victories. Then again, Filmore High School was a team worth beating at any time and Filmore boosters had been making free remarks about a Gridley Waterloo.
So there was a feeling of general depression in dressing quarters.
Dick Prescott, with his dashing, crafty, splendid, score-making work at left end, had become a necessity to the Gridley eleven.
"It's the toughest luck that ever happened," grumbled Hazelton, right guard, to Holmes, right tackle. "And I don't believe Drayne is in anything like condition, either."
"Now, see here, you two," broke in Captain Wadleigh behind them, as he gripped an arm of either boy, "no croaking. We can't afford it."
"We can't afford anything," grinned Hazelton uneasily.
"Oh, of course, we're going to win today—-Gridley simply has to win," added Holmes hastily.
"Yes; you two look as though you had the winning streak on," growled Wadleigh, in a low voice. "For goodness' sake come out of your daze!"
"Do you think yourself that Drayne is fit?" demanded Hazelton.
"He's the fittest man we have that can play left end," retortedWadleigh.
"Knocking, are you?" demanded Drayne, coming up behind them."Nice fellows you are!"
"Oh, now, see here, Drayne, no bad blood," urged Wadleigh. He spoke authoritatively, yet coaxingly, too. "Remember, we've got to keep all our energies for one thing today."
"Well, I'm mighty glad you two don't play on my end of the line," sneered Drayne, looking at Hazelton and Holmes with undisguised hostility.
"Cut it, Drayne. And don't you two talk back, either," warnedWadleigh sternly.
"Oh, acknowledge the corn, Drayne," broke in Hudson, with what he meant for good humor. "Just say you're no good and let it go at that."
There was a dead silence, for an instant, broken by one unidentified fellow, muttering in a voice that sounded like a roar in the silence:
"Drayne? Humph!"
"There you go! That's what all of you are saying to yourselves!"cried Drayne angrily. "For some reason you idiots seem to thinkI'm in no shape today. Hang it, I'm sorry I agreed to play.For two cents I wouldn't play."
"Drayne can be bought off cheaply, can't he?" remarked one of the fellows.
The last speaker did not intend that his voice should reach Drayne, but it did.
"Say, you fellows all have a grouch on, just because I'm playing today!" quivered the victim of the remarks. "Oh, well, never mind I'll cure your grouch, then!"
Seating himself on a locker box, Drayne began to unfasten the lacings of his shoes.
"Here, man! What are you doing?" demanded Captain Wadleigh, bounding forward angrily.
"Curing the grouch of this bunch," retorted Drayne sulkily.
"Man alive, there's no time to fool with your shoes now!" warned the team captain.
"I'm not going to need this pair," Drayne rejoined. "Street shoes will do for me today."
"Not on the gridiron!"
"I'm not going on the field. I've heard enough knocking," grumbledDrayne.
A dozen of the fellows crowded about, consternation written in their faces.
Prescott was known not to be fit to play. Only the day before Dr. Bentley had refused to pass him for the game. Hence Drayne, even if a trifle out of condition, was still the best available man for left end.
"Quit your fooling, Drayne!" cried two or three at once.
"Quit your talking," retorted Drayne, kicking off his other field shoe. "I've done all my talking."
Truth to tell, Drayne still intended to play, but he wanted toteach these fellows a lesson. He intended to make them beg, fromWadleigh down, before he would go on to the finish of his togging.Drayne knew when he had the advantage of them.
"Don't be a fool, Drayne," broke in Hudson hotly.
"Or a traitor to your school," added another.
"Be a man!"
In Drayne's present frame of mind all these appeals served to fan his inward fury.
"Shut up, all of you!" he snapped. "I've listened to all the roasting I intend to stand. I'm out of the game!"
Several looked blankly at "Hen" Wadleigh.
"Whom have you to put in his place?" Grayson demanded hoarsely.
Drayne heard and it was balm to his soul. He started to pull off his football trousers.
Outside, the band started upon a lively gallop. The crowd began to cheer. It started in as a Gridley cheer. Then, above everything else, rang the Filmore yell of defiance.
Just at this moment Coach Morton strode into the room. Almost in a twinkling he learned of the new complication that had arisen.
"Captain Wadleigh, who is to play in Drayne's stead" demanded the coach rather briskly.
"Under certain conditions," broke in Wayne, "I'll agree to play."
"We wouldn't have you under all the conditions in the world!" retorted Mr. Morton. "A football eleven must be an organization of the finest discipline!"
Drayne reddened, then went deathly white. He hadn't intended to let the matter go this far.
"Who is your best man for left end, captain?" insisted Mr. Morton. "You've got to decide like a flash. Your men ought to be out in the air now."
There was a blank pause, while "Hen" Wadleigh looked around over his subs.
"Will you let me play?"
There was a start. Every fellow in the room turned around to stare at the speaker.
It was Dick Prescott, who started eagerly forward, his face aglow with eagerness.
"You, Prescott?" cried Mr. Morton. "But only yesterday Dr. Bentley reported that your lungs had not sufficiently recovered."
"I know, sir," Dick laughed coolly; "but that was yesterday.
"It would be foolhardy, my boy. If you went out on the field, and any exceptional strain came up, you might do an injury to your lungs."
"Mr. Morton," replied the team's left end, very quietly, "I'm willing to go out on the field—-and do all that's in me, for old Gridley—-if it's the last act of my life."
"Your hand, Prescott!" cried Mr. Morton, gripping the boy's palm. "That's the right spirit of grit and loyalty. But it wouldn't be right to let you do it. It isn't necessary, or human, to pay a life for a game."
"Will you let me go on the field if Dr. Bentley passes metoday?" queried Prescott.
"But he won't."
"Try him."
Mr. Morton nodded, and some one ran out and passed the word forDr. Bentley, who acted as medical director in the School's athletics.
Within two minutes the physician entered dressing quarters.
Coach Morton stated Prescott's request.
"Absurd," declared Dr. Bentley.
"Will you examine me, sirs" insisted Prescott.
With a sigh the old physician opened his satchel, taking out a stethoscope and some other instruments.
"Strip to the waist," he ordered tersely.
Many eager hands stretched out to aid Dick in his task.
In a few moments the young athlete, the upper half of his body bared, stood before the medical examiner. For his height, weight and age Prescott was surely a fine picture of physical strength.
But Dr. Bentley, with the air and the preformed bias of a professional skeptic, went all over the boy's torso, starting with a prolonged examination of the heart action and its sounds.
"You find the arterial pressure steady and sound, don't you," asked Dick Prescott?
"Hm!" muttered Dr. Bentley. "Now, take a full breath and hold it."
Thump! thump! thump! went the doctor's forefinger against the back of his other hand, as he explored all the regions of Dick's chest.
A dozen more tests followed.
"What do you think, Doctor?" asked Mr. Morton.
"Hm! The young man recovers with great rapidity. If he goes into a mild game he'll stand it all right. If it turns out to be a rough game——-"
"Then I'll fare as badly as the rest, won't I, Doctor?" laughed Dick. "Thank you for passing me, sir. I'll get into my togs at once."
"But I haven't said that I passed you."
Dick, however, feigned not to hear this. He was rushing to his locker, from which he began to haul the various parts of his rig.
"Is it a crime to let young Prescott go on the field?" asked CoachMorton anxiously.
"No," replied Dr. Bentley hesitatingly. "It might be a greater crime to keep him off the gridiron today. Men have been known to die of grief."
Probably a football player never had more assistance in togging up for a game. Those who couldn't get in close enough to help Dick dress growled at the others for keeping them out.
"You seem uneasy, Coach," murmured Captain Wadleigh, aside.
"I am."
"I can't believe, sir, that a careful man like Dr. Bentley would let Prescott go on at left end today, if there was good reason why Prescott shouldn't. As we know, from the past, Dick Prescott has wonderful powers of recuperation."
"If Prescott should go to pieces, Captain, whom will you put forward in his places"
"Dalzell, sir. He's speedy, even if not as clever as Prescott or Drayne."
"I'm glad you've been looking ahead, Captain. Out I hope Prescott will hold out, and suffer no injury whatever from this day's work."
Was Dick anxious? Not the least in the world. He was care free—-jubilant. The Gridley spirit possessed him. He was going to hold out, and the eleven was going to win its game. That was all there was to it, or all there could be.
In the first two or three days after his injury at the fire Dick had traveled briefly in the dark valley of physical despair.
To be crippled or ill, to be physically useless—-the thought filled him with horror.
Then young Prescott had taken a good grip on himself. Out of despair proceeded determination not to allow his lungs to go down before the assault of smoke and furnace-like air.
Grace Dodge was not, as yet, well on the way to recovery, but Dick Prescott, with his strong will power, and the grit that came of Gridley athletics, was now togging hastily to play in the great game—-though he had not, as yet, returned to school after his disaster.
Out near the grandstand the band crashed forth for the tenth time. Gridley High School bannerets waved by the hundreds. Yet Filmore, too, had her hosts of boosters here today, and their yells all but drowned out the spirited music.
"Here come our boys! Gridley! Gridley! Gridley! Wow-ow-ow!"
"Hurrah!"
Then the home boosters, who had read Drayne's name on the score card took another look at their cards—-next rubbed their eyes.
"Prescott at left end!" yelled one frenzied booster. "Whoop!"
Then the Gridley bannerets waved like a surging sea of color. The band, finishing its strain, started in again, not waiting for breath.
"Prescott, after all, on left end!"
Home boosters were still cheering wildly by the time that Captain Pike, of Filmore High School, had won the toss and the teams were lining, up.
Silence did not fall until just the instant before the ball was put in play.
Drayne, with his headgear pulled down over his eyes, and skulking out beside the grand stand, soon began to feel a savage satisfaction.
Something must be ailing the left end man after all, for Dick did not seem able to get through the Filmore line with his usual brilliant tactics.
Instead, after ten minutes of furious play, Filmore forced Gridley to make a safety. Then again the ball was forced down toward Gridley's goal line, and at last pushed over.
Gridley hearts, over on the grand stand and bleacher seats, were beating with painful rapidity. What ailed the home boys? Or were the Filmore youths, as they themselves fondly imagined, the gridiron stars of the school world! Filmore, like Gridley, had a record of no defeats so far this season.
It was a hard pill for Captain Wadleigh and his men to swallow.
In the interval between the halves the local band played, but the former dash was now noticeably absent from its music.
The Gridley colors drooped.
Dave Darrin glanced covertly, though anxiously, at his chum.
Was Dick really unfit to play? Dave wondered.
It was not that Prescott had actually failed in any quick bit of individual or team play that he had been signaled to perform. But Darrin wondered if Dick could really be anything like up to the mark.
During the interval Captain Wadleigh went quietly among his men, murmuring a word of counsel here and there.
Nothing in Wadleigh's face or tone betrayed worry; intense earnestness alone was stamped on his bearing.
"Now, remember, fellows, don't get a spirit of defense grafted on you," were Wadleigh's last words before the second half began. "Remember, its to be a general assault all the time. If you get on the defensive nothing can save us from losing."
No sooner was the ball in motion than Gridley's line bore down upon the enemy. So determined was the assault that Filmore found itself obliged to give ground, stubbornly, for a while. Yet Captain Pike's men were not made of stuff that is easily whipped. After the first five minutes Pike's men got the ball and began to drive it a few yards, and then a few yards more, over into Gridley's territory.
As the minutes slipped by the ball went nearer and nearer to Gridley's goal line. Another touchdown must soon result.
Twice Pike tried to throw the ball around the left end. Wadleigh, Hudson, Darrin and Prescott, backed by quarter and left half, presented such a stubborn block that the ball did not get another yard clown the field in two plays. But Pike, who was a hammerer, made a third attempt around that left end. This time he gained but two feet, and the ball passed to Gridley.
Of course, after having had its left wing so badly haltered Gridley was bound to try to work the ball through Filmore's right. As Wadleigh's signals crisped out, the Gridley players threw themselves out for a play to right.
Quarter received the ball, starting fiercely to the right. Left half dashed past quarter, receiving the ball and carrying it straight to Dick Prescott. For a moment this blind succeeded so admirably, that even those on the grand stand did not see the ball given to Prescott, but believed that quarter was rushing the ball over to the right.
Then, like a flash, the trick dawned.
Dick Prescott had the oval, and was running with it like a whirlwind, with Darrin and Hudson as his interference, and with quarter dashing close behind them.
Dick sprinted around the first Filmore man, leaving his interference to sweep the fellows over.
At Filmore's second attempt to tackle, Dick ducked low and escaped. In the next instant the would-be tackler was bowled over by Darrin and Hudson, and Dick swept on with the ball.
By this time all the home boosters were on their feet, yelling like so many Comanches.
Filmore's half and full contrived a trap that caught young Prescott, and carried him down with the ball—-but this happened at Filmore's forty-five-yard line!
In the next play, Dave had the ball, on a short pass, but with Dick dashing along close to his side, and Hudson on the other flank. Before Darrin went down on the ball it had been carried to Filmore's thirty-yard line. Then it went beyond the twenty-five-yard line, and Gridley still carried the pigskin.
"Dick's coming up, all right," proudly muttered Darrin to Hudson, while the next snapback was forming.
"It's putting nerve into all of us," rejoined Hudson.
The pigskin was only fourteen yards from the Filmore goal line when Captain Wadleigh's men had to see the ball go to Filmore. Pike's men, however, failed to make good on downs, so the oval came back into Wadleigh's possession.
Now, the play was swift and brilliant. Dick got the ball around the left end once, and afterwards assisted Dave to put it through the hostile line. With the third play Dick carried the pigskin barely across Filmore's goal line and scored a touchdown. Darrin immediately after made a kick for goal.
The score now stood eight to six for Filmore but only ten minutes of playing time remained.
"Our fellows have saved a whitewash, and that's all," reflected Drayne. "They'd have done better with me, and I guess Wadleigh knows it by this time."
"Slug's the word," Pike passed around, swiftly. "No fouling, but use your weight, dash and speed. Slam these Gridley rubes. Hammer em!"
"Come on, now Gridley!" rang the imploring request from the home boosters, who were now too restless to keep to their seats.
"Remember your record so far this season!"
"Forceful playing, but keep cool. Use your Judgment to the last, and put a lot of speed and doggedness behind your science," was Wadleigh's adjuration.
Those who followed form most close, now had their eyes on youngPrescott.
If he went to pieces that would leave Gridley weak at what had usually been its strongest point, especially in attack.
And Gridley had the ball again. But what ailed Captain Wadleigh, the boosters wondered? For he was now sending the ball to the right wing, as if admitting that Prescott must not be worked too hard.
"Use Prescott!" shouted one man hoarsely.
"Prescott! Prescott!"
"Yah! Dot's all right. Vot you t'ink Wadleigh has ein head for' Leafe him und Bresgott alone, and dey hand you der game a minute in!" bawled the deep bass voice of Herr Schimmelpodt who, nearly alone of the Gridley boosters, believed that the home team needed no grand stand coaching.
"But they've only eight minutes left," grumbled the man sitting to the left of Herr Schimmelpodt.
"Yah! Dot's all right, too," retorted the German. "Battles haf been won in less than eight minutes. Read history!"
In two plays Captain Wadleigh had succeeded in advancing the pigskin less than two yards down the Filmore territory.
But now hats were thrown up in the air, and frantic yells resounded when it was discovered that Dick had the ball again, and that Darrin, Hudson, Wadleigh, quarter and left half were fighting valiantly to push him through the stubborn, panting line of Filmore High School.
It was a splendid fight, but a losing one. Filmore was massing all its weight, wind and brawn, and Gridley lost the ball on downs.
An involuntary groan went up from the Gridley spectators.
Five and a half minutes left, and the ball in the enemy's hands!That settled the game.
The musicians looked at their leader, before taking the music from their instrument racks.
"Keep your music on," called the leader. "We of Gridley are sportsmen enough to play the victors off the field."
The play was quicker and snappier than ever. All the young menon both sides were using their last reserves of strength and wind.Pike was making a ferocious effort to get the ball back and overGridley's goal line.
But Pike lost, after three plays, and Wadleigh's men again grabbed the pigskin.
"Barely two minutes!" groaned the Gridley spectators, watches in hand.
Dick was seen glancing at Wadleigh and shaking his head almost imperceptibly. But a hundred people on the grand stand saw that tiny shake, and, most of all, Pike took it in.
Wadleigh, before bending low over the ball held up thumb and forefinger of his right hand, formed in a circle, for a brief instant. That sign meant:
"Emergency signal code!"
Then he bent over to snap the ball back, and the figures that shot from quarter-back's chest carried different values from those that any enemy could guess.
"Eight—-eleven—-four—-ten!"
Then the ball went back to quarter, who started from a crouch without straightening up.
Gridley's whole attack seemed to swing to the right. Wadleigh, himself, from half-facing to right, took a long step toward right wing; then wheeled like a flash, and went plowing, onward, to the left.
Quarter, after the start, and ere Filmore could break through, had passed the ball to half, who, on a wild sprint, had passed it to Dick Prescott.
And now Dick was racing out around Filmore's right end, backed by a crushing interference of which Wadleigh was the center. Darrin, with head high, was watching for every chance at legitimate interference. Behind them all, quarter and left half pounded and pushed.
An instant and Dick was free and around Filmore's end. Now, he dashed into the race of his life!
Wadleigh sent a man sprawling. Dave's elbow did something to Filmore's right tackle. Just what it was none of the spectators could see. But none of the field officials interfered so it must have been legitimate.
After a fight and a short, brilliant run, Dick was tackled byFilmore's fullback.
One quivering instant—-then Wadleigh and Hudson bumped that fullback so hard that he went down, Dick wriggling safely away and bounding toward Filmore's goal.
With fire in their eyes, Gridley's center and left wing swept on.
Dick Prescott was over the goal line, bending and holding the ball down! Then, indeed, the crowd broke loose all except the few hundreds from Filmore.
Was it a touchdown? That was the question that all asked themselves. It was so close to the line that many onlookers were in doubt, and stood staring with all their eyes.
But the ball went back for the kick, and that settled all doubts.
Dave made the kick, and lost it—-but who cared?
A moment later and the whistle blew—-the second half was over—-the game finished.
Filmore had bitten the dust to the song of eleven to eight.
Dick's tiny head shake had been a piece of strategy prearranged with Wadleigh. It was a legitimate ruse, as honest as any other piece of football strategy intended to throw the enemy "off".
Now the band was indeed thundering out, playing in its best strain.
All restraint thrown aside, the spectators surged over the lines and out on the gridiron, making a rush for the heated but happy home players.
The record had been kept—-a season without a game lost. Filmore swallowed its chagrin and went home.
Dick? He had helped nobly to save the game and the record, but now he was exhausted.
Over in dressing quarters two of the subs were rubbing him down, while Dr. Bentley and Coach Morton stood anxiously by.
After a few days Prescott was back at school. It was noted, however, that he did not take any part in gym. work, and that he spoke even more quietly than usual, but he kept up in his recitations.
Youth is the period of quick recovery. That the ThanksgivingDay game had strained the young left end there was no doubt.Within a fortnight, however, Prescott was himself again, takinghis gym. work, and a cross-country run three times a week.
"We ought to give Drayne the school cut," hinted Grayson. "He behaved in an abominable way right at the beginning of the critical game. He's a traitor."
"Give Drayne the cut?" repeated Wadleigh, slowly, before a group of the fellows. "Perhaps, in one way, he deserved it, but——-"
"Well, what can you find to say for a fellow who acted like that?" demanded Hudson, impatiently.
"Drayne helped to win the game for us," replied Wadleigh moderately. "Had he played Filmore would have downed us—-of that I'm sure, as I look back. Drayne's conduct put Prescott on the gridiron, didn't it? That was what saved the score for us."
At the time of Grace Dodge's great peril, her banker father had been away on a business trip. It was two days later when word was finally gotten to the startled parent. Then, by wire, Theodore Dodge learned that Grace's condition was all right, needing only care and time. So he did not hasten back on that account.
When he did return to Gridley, Mr. Dodge hunted up Lawyer Ripley.
"I must reward those boys, and handsomely," he explained to the lawyer. "Their splendid conduct demands it."
"I am sorry, Dodge, that you have been so long in coming to such a conclusion," replied the lawyer, almost coldly.
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you still owe Prescott and Darrin that thousand dollars offered by your family as a reward for finding you when your misfortune happened."
"But my son, Bert———"
"Is the bitter enemy of young Prescott, who is one of the manliest young fellows ever reared in Gridley."
"But my wife has also opposed my paying the reward," argued Mr. Dodge. "She declares that the two boys were out on a jaunt and just stumbled upon me."
"Your wife, like all good mothers, is much inclined to take the part of her own son," rejoined Lawyer Ripley. "However, at the time Prescott and Darrin found you, they were not out on a jaunt. They were serving 'The Blade,' and I happen to know that the young men did some remarkably good detective work in trailing and rescuing you. They started fair and even with the police, but they beat the police at the latter's own game. Dodge, by every consideration of right and justice, you owe that reward to Prescott and Darrin! If they had not found and rescued you, you might not be here today. There is no telling what might have happened to you had you been left helpless less in the custody of the pair of scoundrels who had you in that shack. I repeat that you owe that thousand dollars as fairly as you ever owed a penny in your life"
"Well, then, I'll pay it," assented Theodore Dodge reluctantly, after some hesitation. "I am afraid my wife will oppose it, however."
"You can tell Mrs. Dodge just what I've said, or I'll tell her, if you prefer."
"Will you attend, Ripley, to rewarding all the boys for their gallant conduct in rescuing my daughter."
"Yes; if you'll leave the matter wholly in my hands, and agree not to interfere"
Theodore Dodge agreed to this, and Lawyer Ripley went ahead. The legal gentleman, however had a more difficult time than he had expected. It took a lot of argument, and more than one meeting, to make Dick & Co. agree to accept anything whatever.
It was at last settled, however, Mr. Ripley urging upon the young men that they had no right to slight their own future prospects or education by refusing to "lay by" money to which they were honestly entitled, when it cane in the form of an earned reward from a citizen amply able to pay the reward.
So Dick and Dave received that thousand dollars, which, of course, they divided evenly.
In addition, each member of Dick & Co. received one hundred dollars for his prompt and gallant work in rescuing Grace Dodge from death.
Of course Bert, away at private school with Bayliss, heard all about the rescue. It is not a matter of record, however, that Bert ever wrote a letter thanking any member of Dick & Co. for saving his sister.
When the next commencement swung around Fred Ripley, who had managed to "go straight" all through his senior year, was among those graduated. What became of him will yet be learned by our readers in another volume.
There are a host of other Gridley fellows also to be accounted for.
Their part in the subsequent history of Gridley, and of the world in general, will also yet be told, all in the proper place.
"Prin.," too, may yet come in for some attention.
Dick & Co. did not take part in basket ball nor any of the organized winter athletics though they kept constantly in training. But these young men realized that the High School is, first of all, a place for academic training; so, after the football season had ended so gloriously, they went back to their books with renewed vigor.
Laura and Belle, as they neared the end of their junior year, went almost from girlhood into womanhood, as is the way with girls.
Yet neither Miss Meade nor Miss Bentley found Dick or Dave "too young" for their frank, girlish admiration.
"You see, Dick, that we were quite right about you and Dave having all the grit that goes with the highest needs of the military profession," Laura remarked. "Your conduct at the fire shows the stuff that would be displayed by Dick & Co. in leading a charge in battle, if need be."
"I guess a reasonable amount of courage, under stress, is the possession of nearly all members of the human race," laughed young Prescott.
Here we shall leave our Gridley friends for a short time. We shall meet them all again, however, in the forthcoming and final volume of this series, which will be published under the title:
"The High School Captain of the Team; Or, Dick & Co. Leading the Athletic Vanguard."
In this new volume we shall see more of the boys' qualities in leadership.
Before we meet our popular boys in high school again the reader will find the long succession of wonderful events of their summer vacation following their junior year in the last two volumes of the "High School Boys' Vacation Series", which are published under the titles, "The High School Boys' Fishing Trip; Or, Dick & Co. in the Wilderness," and "The High School Boys Training Hike; Or, Making Themselves 'Hard as Nails.'"
These two narratives of a real vacation of real American boys are bound to please the many friends of Dick & Co. Be sure to read them.
End of Project Gutenberg's The High School Left End, by H. Irving Hancock