The High School Left End Part 22

CHAPTER XIII

BERT DODGE "STARTS SOMETHING"

As always happens the schedule of the fall's games was changed somewhat at the last moment.

In the first change there was a decided advantage. Wrexham withdrawing its challenge almost at the last, Coach Morton took on Welton High School for the first game of the season.

Now, Welton must have played for no other reason than to gratify a weak form of vanity, for there were few High School teams in the state that had cause to dread Welton High School.

For Gridley, however, the game served a useful purpose. It solidified Captain Wadleigh's team into actual work. The score was 32 to 0, in favor of Gridley. However, as d.i.c.k phrased it, the practice against an actual adversary, for the first time in the season, was worth at least three hundred to nothing.

"But don't you fellows make a mistake," cautioned Captain Wadleigh.

"Don't get a notion that you've nothing bigger than Welton to tackle this year. Next Sat.u.r.day you've got to go up against Tottenville, and there's an eleven that will make you perspire."

Coach Morton had Tottenville gauged at its right value. During the few days before the game he kept the Gridley boys steadily at work. The pa.s.sing and the signal work, in particular, were reviewed most thoroughly.

"Remember, the pa.s.s is going to count for a lot," Mr. Morton warned them. "You can't make a weight fight against Tottenville, for those fellows weigh a hundred and fifty pounds more, to the team, than you do. They're savage, swift, clever players, too, those Tottenville youths. What you take away from them you'll have to win by strategy."

So the Gridley boys were drilled again and again in all the special points of field strategy that Coach Morton knew or could invent.

Yet one of the best things that Mr. Morton knew, and one that always characterized Gridley, was the matter of confidence.

Captain Wadleigh's young men were made to feel that they were going to win. They did not underestimate the enemy, but they were going to win. That was well understood by them all.

Now, in the games of sheer strategy much depends upon nimble ends.

d.i.c.k Prescott, in particular, was coached much in private, as well as on the actual gridiron.

"Keep yourself in keen good shape, Mr. Prescott," Mr. Morton insisted.

"We need your help in scalping Tottenville next Sat.u.r.day."

As the week wore along Mr. Morton and Captain Wadleigh became more and more pleased with themselves and with their a.s.sociates.

"I don't see how we can fail tomorrow," said Mr. Horton, quietly, to "Hen" Wadleigh, just after the School and the second teams had been dismissed.

It was not much after half-past three. Practice had been brief, in order that none of the players might be used up.

"Prescott, in especial, is showing up magnificently," replied Wadleigh. "He and Darrin are certainly wonders at their end of the line."

"You must use them all you can tomorrow, and yet don't make them fight the whole battle," replied Coach Morton. "Save them for the biggest emergencies."

"I'll be careful," promised Wadleigh.

d.i.c.k and Dave walked back into the city, instead of taking a car.

"How are you feeling, d.i.c.k?" asked Dave.

"As smooth as silk," Prescott replied.

"I don't believe I've ever been in such fine condition before,"

replied Dave.

"That's mighty good, for I have an idea that the captain means to use us all he can tomorrow."

"Oh, Tottenville is as good as beaten, then," laughed Dave, with all the Gridley confidence.

"I'd like to know just how strong Tottenville is on its right end of the line," mused Prescott.

"I don't care how strong they are," retorted Darrin, with a laugh.

"You and I are not going to use strength; we're going to rely upon brains---Coach Morton's brains, though, to be sure."

The two chums separated at the corner of the side street on which stood the Prescott bookstore and home. Dave hurried home to attend to some duties that he knew were awaiting him.

d.i.c.k, whistling, strolled briskly on. He saw Dodge and Bayliss on the other side of the street, but did not pay much attention to them until they crossed just before d.i.c.k had reached his own door.

"There's the mucker," muttered Bayliss, in a tone intentionally loud enough for the young left end to overhear.

"I won't pay any attention to them," thought d.i.c.k, with an amused smile. "I can easily understand what they're sore about. I'd feel angry myself if I had been left off the team."

"Why do fellows like that need an education?" demanded Dodge, in a slightly louder tone, as the pair came closer.

Still d.i.c.k Prescott paid no heed. He started up the steps, fumbling for his latch key as he went.

"You faker! You mucker!" hissed Bayliss, now speaking directly to the young left end.

This was so palpable that d.i.c.k could not well ignore it. Dropping the key back into his pocket, he turned to stare at the two "sorehead" chums.

"Eh?" he asked, with a quiet laugh.

"Yes; I meant you!" hissed Bayliss.

"Oh, well," grinned d.i.c.k, "your opinions have never counted for much in the community, have they?"

"Shut up, you ignorant hound!" warned Bayliss belligerently.

"Too bad," retorted d.i.c.k tantalizingly. "Of course, I understand what ails you. You were left off the High School team, and I was not. But that is your own fault, Bayliss. You could have made the team if you hadn't been foolish."

"Don't insult me with your opinions fellow!" cried Bayliss, growing angrier every instant. At least, he appeared to be working him self up into a rage.

"Oh, I don't care anything about your opinions, and I have no anxiety to spring mine on you," retorted d.i.c.k, in an indifferent voice. Once more he fumbled for his latch key.

"You haven't any business talking with gentlemen, anyway," sneered Bert Dodge.

d.i.c.k flushed slightly, though he replied, coolly: