The High School Freshmen Part 6

"Glee!" chuckled Len. "Wouldn't the whole town---including the Board members---wake up, if they only knew that the whole thing was planned out by a fourteen-year-old fres.h.i.+e, by name d.i.c.k Prescott!"

"You won't let it out, Len, that I had any hand in it?" asked d.i.c.k, quickly.

"Oh, not I," promised Len, quickly. "I gave you my word on that, son, didn't I?"

"Now, see here," d.i.c.k went on, "why can't you push this thing along one day further? Why don't you interview a lot of the prominent business men on the absolute necessity of football for keeping up the H.S. spirit and traditions?"

"Good idea as far as it goes," a.s.sented Len, dubiously. "But a lot of the business men might prove to be fossilized, and be against the grand old game."

"Leave that sort out," hinted d.i.c.k, sagely, "and go after the right kind."

"How'll I know the right kind?" asked reporter Spencer, thoughtfully.

"Why, use your head a bit. There's Beck. He's a millionaire, and one of the big men of the town, isn't he?"

"Yes; but he may not believe in football."

"Shucks! Of course Beck believes in football," retorted d.i.c.k.

"Doesn't his lumber yard furnish all the wooden goods that are needed for fences, seats, and all that sort of thing up at the athletic grounds? Doesn't Beck know that, if he said a word against football, he never get another order for lumber from the H.S.

Alumni a.s.sociation. Then there's Carleson. He's one of the directors of the railroad, therefore a big enough man to interview."

"Where does Carleson come in on hot interest in football?"

"Use your head," jibed d.i.c.k. "Doesn't his railroad have lots of jobs transporting the football teams to other games, and bringing other teams here? Don't mobs of fans follow the teams and pay fare? Why, H.S. football is a dividend-payer to Carleson. Your own editor, Pollock, will come out for us. Besides the news football makes for 'The Blade,' just think of the profit from doing all the poster and ticket printing for us. Then there's Henley, who sells the team uniforms and other athletic goods _and he's one of the aldermen_! Why, man alive, there are a score of big men in town who can't afford to see H.S. football stopped. Here are some of their names-----"

d.i.c.k rattled it along, giving a long list to Len Spencer, who jotted down the names.

"Thank you; old man," said the reporter, cordially. "I'll get these interviews, and it'll make a corking good second-day story.

Pollock says I can push this as far as I like, for it has struck a popular vein. But Pollock says he wouldn't have thought of it, d.i.c.k, if you hadn't set the ball rolling."

"Then he knows the big part that my chums and I took in the game?"

asked d.i.c.k, his face showing his concern.

"Yes; but don't worry. Old Pollock is as mum as the grave about such things. Now, so long, d.i.c.k, old fellow. I've got to run down to the end of this alley to call on a sick friend. Then I'll hustle out and get a barrelful of interviews that will cinch and rivet football on Gridley H.S. for a century to come!"

As Len Spencer vanished through one of the doorways d.i.c.k Prescott turned toward the street. As he did so, he jumped back.

"We want you, fres.h.i.+e!" declared Frank Thompson, grimly. "And we want you badly."

Badger and Butler, who were just behind the speaker, closed in firmly around the freshman.

"We heard, and we didn't feel ashamed to listen," declared Thompson. "So you're the genius that has been doing giant's work for football? You are under arrest, fres.h.i.+e---and I hope you'll come along without making any row."

Despite the severity of the looks in the faces of these three seniors, d.i.c.k Prescott did not feel very uneasy. He submitted to walking between Thompson and Butler, while Ben Badger brought up the rear. The unafraid prisoner was marched along and into another street, to where the football eleven had its "club room."

This was an unoccupied store, the agent of which allowed the boys the use of the place, rent free, as long as it remained idle.

When near this headquarters Ben Badger darted ahead, throwing open the door, while Frank and Ted marched in with their prisoner.

"Attention!" roared Ben.

Nearly all the members and subst.i.tutes of the eleven were present.

They were sorting over various bits of football paraphernalia.

Several of them stopped work to look up as Ben Badger slammed the door shut again.

"Well, what are you making so much noise about?" demanded one of the second cla.s.smen. "You come in with a roar, and all you bring with you is---just a poor, insignificant little fres.h.i.+e."

"Oh, but what a freshman!" thundered Frank Thompson. "Listen, fellows, what do you suppose this freshman has done?"

"Lynch him for it, anyway, whatever it is," retorted another.

"Wait!" commanded Thompson. "And listen."

There upon Frank detailed what he and his two comrades had overheard at the head of the alleyway. Instantly the complexion of things changed. There were cheers and hoa.r.s.e yells, as the football men rushed forward, crowding about d.i.c.k Prescott.

"Now I've told all that I heard," wound up Thompson. "We'll have to ask Mr. Prescott to favor us with the further details, which I trust he will be inclined to do."

"Mr. Prescott!" That, instead of "cub," "kid" or "fres.h.i.+e." Had the enthusiasm been less intense d.i.c.k would have been sure that they were having fun with him.

"Go on," ordered Ben Badger briefly. "Talk up!"

To have refused plain orders from a first cla.s.sman might have been serious. d.i.c.k knew better. Clearing his throat he related all he could recall of how the plot came to be hatched. Nor was d.i.c.k glory-hunter enough to give himself any more credit than he did his partners. In his brief account the freshman spread all the credit for the invention equally over the six members of d.i.c.k & Co.

"'Twas a great thought, and carried out like a campaign," declared Ben Badger. There was more cheering. Then Frank Thompson dragged d.i.c.k forward once more before the lined-up team.

"Fellows," proposed Thompson, "we owe this fres.h.i.+e-----"

"Stop that!" roared one of the fellows. "Prescott may be young---painfully young---but he's no fres.h.i.+e."

"Then," amended Thompson, with grave dignity, "we owe a handsome reward to this---upper cla.s.sman. May I tell him what the reward is to be?"

"Go ahead, Thomp!" came an answering roar.

"Then, listen, Prescott. For the great deed you have done for Gridley H.S. football every member of d.i.c.k & Co. deserves undying fame. As I can't be sure of our ability to confer that, we'll do the next best thing. In years and cla.s.s you're all six of you freshmen. Now, what is expected of a freshman?"

"Why," laughed d.i.c.k, "as I understand it, a freshman is a fellow who doesn't dare to be fresh."

"Hear! hear!" yelled a dozen voices.

"In that respect," proclaimed Thompson, solemnly, "d.i.c.k & Co.

shall no longer be freshman at Gridley H.S.! If the spirit seizes any of you, then go ahead and be fresh---of course, not _too_ fres.h.!.+ Mix in with the upper cla.s.smen, all of you, if you want to. Have your opinions, and don't be afraid to let 'em out---if you can't hold in any longer. To the upper cla.s.s dances this winter d.i.c.k & Co. shall have a bid---if you'll all learn how to walk and glide across a waxed floor. Remember, when you're among the fellows, you don't have to keep in the back freshmen row---but see to it that you don't encourage general mutiny in your cla.s.s against the superior upper cla.s.ses. Finally, you can get sa.s.sy with all upper cla.s.sman whenever any of you six want to---all you'll have to do, further, will be to fight."

Another round of cheers confirmed Thompson's declaration.

"Now, fellows, get a move on!" bawled Sam Edgeworth, captain of the football eleven. "We've barely time to get to the field and meet Coach Morton punctually."

"Will you let me make one request?" shouted d.i.c.k, over the hubbub.

"Yes. Go ahead! Get it out quick!"