The High School Left End Part 13

"Ugh! ugh! ugh!" they groaned, whenever any of the "soreheads"

tried to walk this gauntlet in dignified silence.

"Let's keep out of that, fellows," advised d.i.c.k, to his chums, who grouped themselves about him. "Groans and catcalls won't smooth or soothe any hard-feelings."

"I don't blame any of the fellows for what they're doing to the sn.o.bs," blazed Dan Dalzell indignantly.

"I don't say that I do, either," d.i.c.k replied quietly. "But there may be better ways of teaching fellows that they should stand by their school at all times."

"I'd like to know a better way, then," flared Tom Reade.

"Let's have it, instanter, d.i.c.k, if you've got one," begged Greg Holmes.

"Yes; out with it, old chap," begged Harry Hazelton.

But d.i.c.k Prescott smiled provokingly.

"Perhaps, with the help of some of the rest of you," he replied, "I shall be able to find a way of cooling some hot heads. I hope so, anyway."

"d.i.c.k has his plan all fixed, now," Dan whispered, hopefully, to Tom.

"If he has," quoth Reade, under his breath, I wish he'd tell us his scheme."

"Humph!" retorted Dan. "You know d.i.c.k Prescott, and you know that he never shoots until he has taken time to aim."

CHAPTER VIII

d.i.c.k FIRES BOTH BARRELS

"Oh---great Scott!" gasped Tom Reade, as he paused at an item in "The Blade" the following morning.

That item had been written by Prescott. There could be no doubt about it in Reade's mind.

"What's the matter?" asked Tom's father.

"Oh, d.i.c.k has been paying his respects to a certain clique in the High School, I take it," Tom replied, with a grin. "I heard, yesterday, that he was going to shoot into that crowd. But---and here's a short editorial on the same subject, too. Wow! d.i.c.k has fired into the enemy with both barrels!"

A moment later Tom pa.s.sed the paper over to his father. d.i.c.k's article read:

_There is a possibility that Gridley High School will not be in the front ranks in football this year. Those who know state that a "sorehead" combination has been formed by the young male representatives of some of our wealthier families. These young men, having elected themselves, so it is said, the salt of the earth, or the cream of a new Gridley aristocracy, are going to refuse to play in the football eleven this year.

Even young men who belong to "prominent" families may have some gifts in the way of football ability. Three or four out of the dozen or more "soreheads" are really needed if Gridley High School is to maintain its standing this year. The remainder of the "soreheads" may, with advantage to the High School eleven, be excused from offering themselves.

The "soreheads," it is stated, feel that it would be beneath the dignity of their families for them to play on an eleven which must, in any event, be recruited largely from the sons of the Gridley families less fortunately situated financially.

Strangely enough, though they don't intend to play football this year, these "soreheads" have been training hard of late, one of their practices being the taking of an early morning cross-country run together.

The average young man at the High School is as eager as ever to uphold the town's and the school's honor and dignity on the football gridiron this year. Whether the so-called "soreheads" will reconsider their proposed course of action and throw themselves in with the common lot for the upholding of the Gridley name and the honor of the High School will have been determined within the next few days. It is possible, however, that this little coterie of self-appointed "exclusives" will continue to refuse to cast their lot with the commoner run of High School boys, to whom some of the "soreheads"

have referred as "muckers." A Gridley "mucker," it may be stated in pa.s.sing, is a Gridley boy of poor parents who desires to obtain a decent education and better himself in life._

"Is that article true?" demanded Tom Reade's father.

"Yes, sir," Tom responded. "d.i.c.k wouldn't have written it, if it hadn't been. But turn over to the editorial column, and see that other little bit."

The editorial in question referred to the news printed in another column, and stated that this information, if correct, showed a state of affairs at the High School that needed bettering. The editor continued:

_If there are in the High School any young sn.o.bs who display such a mean and un-American spirit, then the thoughtful reader must conclude that these young men are being unjustly educated at the public expense, for such boys are certain to grow into men who will turn nothing of value back into the community. Such young men, if they really need to study, should be educated at the expense of their families. Both the High School and the community can easily dispense with the presence of sn.o.bs and sn.o.bbery._

"I guess there'll be some real soreness in some heads this morning,"

laughed Tom's father.

"Won't there!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tom, and hurried out into the street.

It did not take him long to find some of his chums and other High School boys. Those who had not seen "The Blade" read the two marked portions eagerly.

Bert Dodge had "The Blade" placed before him by his sister. Bert read with reddening cheeks.

"That's what comes of letting a fellow like d.i.c.k Prescott write for the papers," Bert stormed angrily. "That fellow ought to be tarred and feathered!"

"Why don't you suggest it to the 'soreheads'?" asked his sister, quizzically. Grace Dodge was an amiable, democratic, capable girl who had gone through college with honors, and yet had not gained a false impression of the importance conferred by a little wealth.

"Grace, I believe you're laughing at me!" dared the young man exasperatedly.

"No; I'm not laughing. I'm sorry," sighed the young woman. "But I can imagine that a good many are laughing, this morning, and that the number will grow. Bert, dear, do you think any young man can hope to be very highly esteemed when he sets his own importance above the good name and success of his school?"

Bert did not answer, but quit the house moodily. He encountered some of "his own set," but they were not a very cheerful-looking lot that morning. Not one of the "soreheads" could escape the conviction that d.i.c.k Prescott held the whip hand of public opinion over them. What none of them appreciated, was the moderation with which young Prescott had wielded his weapon.

Dodge, Bayliss, Paulson and Hudson entered the High School grounds together, that morning, ten minutes before opening time. As the quartette pa.s.sed, several of the little groups of fellow students ceased their talk and turned away from the four "soreheads."

Then, after the quartette had pa.s.sed, quiet little laughs were heard.

All four mounted the steps of the building with heightening color.

Before the door, talking together, stood Fred Ripley and Purcell, whom the "soreheads" had endeavored to enlist.

"Good morning, Purcell. Morning, Ripley," greeted Bayliss.

Fred and Purcell wheeled about, turning their backs without answering.

Once inside the building the four young fellows looked at each other uneasily.

"Are the fellows trying to send us to coventry?" demanded Dodge.

"Oh, well," muttered Bayliss, "there are enough of us. We can stand it!"

Yet, at recess, the "soreheads" found themselves extremely uncomfortable.

None of their fellow-students, among the boys, would notice them.

Whenever some of the "soreheads" pa.s.sed a knot of other boys, low-toned laughs followed. Even many of the girls, it proved, had taken up with the Coventry idea.