DICK & CO. GO AFTER THE SCHOOL BOARD'S SCALPS
In Gridley High School, sessions began at eight in the morning.
School let out for the day at one in the afternoon. The brighter
students, who could get most of their lessons in school, and
do the rest of the work during the evening, thus had the
afternoon for work or fun.
Often, though, it happened that there were parties, or school
dances in the evening. Then a portion of the afternoon could
be used for study, if need be. Saturdays, of course, were free
from study for all but the dullest---and the dullest usually don't
bother their heads much about study at any time.
Gridley was not a large place---just an average little American
city of some thirty thousand inhabitants. It was a much bigger
place than that, though, when it came to the matter of public
spirit. Gridley people were proud of their town. They wanted
everything there to be of the best. Certainly, the Gridley High
School was not surpassed by many in the country. The imposing
building cost some two hundred thousand dollars. The equipment
of the school was as fine as could be put in a building of that
size. Including the principal, there were sixteen teachers, four
of them being men.
In all the classes combined, there were some two hundred and forty
students, about one hundred of these being girls. Nearly all
of the students were divided between the four regular classes.
There were always a few there taking a postgraduate, or fifth
year of work, for either college or one of the technical schools.
With such a school and such a staff of teachers as it possessed
the Gridley standard of scholarship was high. The Gridley diploma
was a good one to take to a college or to a "Tech" school.
Yet this fine high school stood well in the bodily branches of
training. Gridley's H.S. football eleven had played, in the past
four years, forty-nine games with other high school teams, and
had lost but two of these games. The Gridley baseball nine had
played fifty-four games with other high school teams in the same
period, and had met defeat but three times in the four years.
Athletics, at this school, were not overdone, but were carried
on with a fine insistence and a dogged determination. Up to date,
however, despite the fine work of their boys, the citizens of
the town had been somewhat grudging about affording money for
training athletic teams. What the boys had won on the fields
of sport they had accomplished more without public encouragement
than with it.
It was now October. Dick Prescott and his five closest friends
were all freshmen. They had been in the school only long enough
to become accustomed to the routine of work and study. They were
still freshmen, and would be until the close of the school year.
As freshmen were rather despised "cubs" Dick and his friends
would be daring, indeed should they dare to do anything, in their
freshman year, to make them very prominent.
According to a good many Gridley people Dick's father, Eben Prescott,
was accounted the best educated man in town. The elder Prescott
had taken high honors at college; he had afterwards graduated
in law, and, for a while, had tried to build up a practice. Eben
Prescott was not lazy, but he was a student, much given to dreaming.
He had finally been driven to opening a small bookstore. Here,
when not waiting on customers, he could read. Dick's mother had
proved the life of the little business. Had it not been for her
energy and judgment the pair would have found it difficult to
rear even their one child properly. The family lived in five
rooms over the bookstore.
From the time he first began to go to school it had been plain
that Dick Prescott inherited his mother's energy, plus some of
his own. He had been one of the leaders in study, work and mischief,
at the Central Grammar School. It was while in the grammar school
that a band of boys had been formed who were popularly known as
"Dick & Co." Dick was naturally the head. The other members of
the company were Tom Reade, Dan Dalzell, Harry Hazelton, Greg
Holmes and Dave Darrin. These were the same now all High School
freshmen who had stepped forward and offered to take Dick's place
in fighting Fred Ripley.
Dick was now fourteen, and so were all his partners, except Tom
Reade, who was a year older. All of Dick's chums were boys belonging
to families of average means. This is but another way of saying
that, as a usual thing, Dick and all his partners would have been
unable to fish up a whole dollar among them all.
Fred Ripley, on the other hand, usually carried considerable money
with him. Lawyer Ripley usually allowed Fred much more money
than that snobbish young man knew how to make good use of.
Fred and Clara Deane were undoubtedly the best-dressed pair in
the High School, and the two best supplied with spending money.
There were a few other sons or daughters of well-to-do people
in Gridley High School, but the average attendance came from families
that were only just about well enough off to be able to maintain
their youngsters at higher studies.
Fred Ripley, despite his mean nature, was not wholly without friends
in the High School. Some of his pocket money he spent on his
closest intimates. Then, too, Fred had rather a shrewd idea as
to those on whom it was safe or best to vent his snobbishness.
From the start of the school year, Ripley had picked out young
Freshman Prescott as a boy he did not like. Dick's place in the
moneyed scale of life was so lowly that Fred did not hesitate
about treating the other boy in a disagreeable manner.
A week after the meeting between Fred and Dick the High School
atmosphere had suddenly become charged with intense excitement.
The school eleven had come out of training, had played almost
its last match with the "scrub" team and was now close to the
time for its first regular match. Oakdale H.S. was to be the
first opponent, and Oakdale was just good enough a team to make
the Gridley boys a bit uneasy over the outcome.
"My remarks this morning," announced Dr. Thornton, on opening
school on Monday, "are not so much directed at the young ladies.
But to the young gentlemen I will say that, when the football
season opens, we usually notice a great falling off in the recitation
marks. This year I hope will be an exception. It has always
been part of my policy to encourage school athletics, but I do
not mind telling you that some members of the Board of Education
notice that school percentages fall off in October and November.
This, I trust, will not be the case this year. If it is I fear
that the Board of Education may take some steps that will result
in making athletics less of a feature among our young men. I
hope that it is not necessary to add anything to this plain appeal
to your good judgment, young gentlemen."
It _wasn't_. Dr. Thornton was a man of so few and direct words
that the boys gathered on the male side of the big assembly room
looked around at each other in plain dismay.
"That miserable old Board of Education is equal to shutting down
on us right in the middle of the season," whispered Frank Thompson
to Dent, who sat next him.
"You know the answer?" Dent whispered back.
"What?"
"Give the board no excuse for any such action. Keep up to the
academ. grind."
"But how do that and train-----"
A general buzz was going around on the boys' side of the room.
Several of the girls, too, were whispering in some excitement,
for most of the girls were enthusiastic "fans" at all of the
High School games.
Whispering, provided it was "necessary" and did not disturb others,
was not against the rules. These were no longer school children,
but "young gentlemen" and "young ladies," and allowed more freedom
than in the lower schools. For a few moments Dr. Thornton tolerated
patiently the excited buzz in the big assembly room. Then, at
last, he struck a paper-weight against the top of his desk on
the platform.
"First period recitations, now," announced the principal.
Clang! At stroke of the bell there was a hurried clutching of
books and notebooks. The students filed down the aisles, going
quickly to their proper sections, which formed in the hall outside.
The tramp of feet resounded through the building, for some recitation
rooms were on the first floor, some on the second and some on
the third.
Two minutes later there was quiet in the great building. Recitation
room doors were closed. One passing through the corridors would
have heard only the indistinct murmur of voices from the different
rooms. Within five minutes every one of the instructors detected
the fact that, though discipline was as good as ever, Dr. Thornton's
words had spoiled the morning's recitations. Try as they would,
the young men could not fasten their minds on the work on hand.
The hint that athletics might be stopped had _stung_.
Dick & Co. were all sitting in IV. English.
"Mr. Prescott," directed Submaster Morton, "define the principle
of suspense, as employed in writing."
Dick started, looked bewildered, then rose.
"It's---it's-----" he began.
"A little more rapidly, if you please."
"I studied it last night, sir, but I'm afraid I've clean forgotten
all about that principle," Dick confessed. He sat down, red-faced,
nor was his discomfiture decreased by hearing some of the occupants
of the girls' seats giggle.
"I shall question you about that at the next recitation. Mr.
Prescott," nodded the submaster.
"Ye-es, sir. I hope you'll have luck," Dick answered, absently.
"What's that?" rapped out Mr. Morton.
Dick, aroused, was on his feet again, like a flash.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Morton," he came out straightforwardly.
"That sounded like slang, or disrespect. I beg to assure you,
sir, that neither was intended. The truth is-----"
"Your mind is busy with other things this morning, I see," smiled
the sub-master.
"Ye-es, sir." Dick dropped once more into his seat. Ralph Morton
sighed. That very popular young submaster, only three years out
of college, was the hugely admired coach who had led the Gridley
eleven to victory during the last three seasons. He was as disturbed
as anyone could have been over the rumored intention of the Board
of Education to take some unpleasant action regarding High School
athletics.
It was a terribly unsatisfactory hour in IV. English. Five minutes
before the period was up Mr. Morton dejectedly closed the text-book
from which he had been questioning, and remarked, tersely:
"At ease!"
Instantly the buzz of whispering broke forth. It was required
only that not enough noise be made to disturb the students in
adjoining rooms.
Dick, Tom and Dan sat in the front row. Directly behind them
were the other three members of the "Co."
"Say," muttered Dan, in a low undertone, "Mr. Morton looks half
glum and half savage this morning, like the rest of us."
"Seems to," muttered Tom Reade.
"What do you make of _that_?" challenged Dan.
"There must be strong foundation for the little hint Dr. Thornton
let fall this morning," guessed Dave Darrin.
"And Mr. Morton knows it's a straight tip," added Harry Hazelton,
sagely.
"It'll be a confounded shame, if the Board does anything like
that," glowed Dick Prescott, indignantly.
"They'll be so many dead ones, if they _do_," flared Tom Reade,
hotly.
"Yes," agreed Dave Darrin. "But the worst about that Board of
Education is that, though they _are_ dead ones, they're so very
dead that they'll never find it out."
"Won't they, thought" whispered Dan Dalzell, hotly. "Say, I'm
inclined to think they will! I-----"
"Dan!" whispered Dick, warningly.
"Yep; you've guessed right," grinned Dan. "I am hatching a scheme
in my mind. I'm getting up something that will bring even that
dummified Board to its senses."
"Then you can achieve the impossible," teased Reade.
"Say, but it's a warm one that's forming this time," whispered
Dan, his eyes dancing. "I'll see you fellows at recess. Not
a word until then. But you-----"
Ting-ling-ling. The bell connecting with the annunciator at the
principal's desk was trilling in IV. English, as it was in all
the other recitation rooms. IV. English rose, the boys waiting
until the girls had passed from the room. A study-hour in the
big assembly room followed for Dick & Co. Yet, had anyone watched
Dan Dalzell, it would have been found that young man was in the
reference room, and reading, or thumbing---of all volumes in
the English language---the city directory!
When recess broke, Dick & Co. quickly got together. By twos,
Dick and Dave Darrin leading, they marched down through one of
the side streets, it being permitted to High School pupils to
go outside the yard in the near neighborhood.
Presently Dick halted before a stone wall. He eyed Dan keenly,
who had been walking just behind with Harry Hazelton.
"Dan," demanded the leader, "you gave us to understand that your
mind is seething again. Is that true?"
"Quite true," Dan averred, solemnly.
"What particular kind of cerebration is oscillating inside of
your intelligence?" Dick queried.
"Which?" demanded Dan, suspiciously. "No, I never! I'm not that
kind of fellow."
"In plain, freshman English, then, what's your scheme?"
"We'll have to get statistics," announced Dalzell, "before I can
come right down to bare facts. When does the Board of Education,
otherwise known as the Grannies' Club, meet?"
"Tonight, in the Board Room in the High School building," Dick
answered.
"How many members are there?"
"Seven," Dick affirmed.
"That's not too many, then," continued Dan, thoughtfully.
"Not too many?" repeated Dick Prescott. "What do you mean?"
"Why, I've been refreshing my general information about this town
by consulting the city directory. From that valuable tome I
discovered that there are just nine undertakers in town."
"Now, what on earth are you driving at---or driveling at?" asked
Dick Prescott, suspiciously, while the other partners remained
wonderingly, eagerly silent.
"Why," pursued Dan, "we can summon seven of the undertakers for
our job, and still leave two available for the public service."
Dick sprang up from the stone wall, tightly gripping Dan Dalzell
by the coat collar.
"Help me watch this lunatic, fellows," urged Dick, quietly.
"He's dangerous. You've heard him! He's plotting assassination!"
"Undertakers don't assassinate anyone, do they?" queried Dan,
with an air of mock innocence.
"What _are_ you plotting, then?" insisted Dick.
Dan's face broadened into a very pronounced grin.
"Why, see here, fellows, there seems to be some fire behind Dr.
Thornton's smoke that the Board of Education may get excited over
low recitation marks, and actually---_stop football_!" finished
Dalzell, in a gasp.
The other five chums snorted. Dan Dalzell was presently able
to control his feelings sufficiently to proceed:
"No one but actually dead ones would expect an American institution
of the higher learning to exist in these days without football.
Hence, if the Grannies' Club---I mean the School Board---are
planning to stop football, or even believe that it is possible,
then they're sure enough dead ones. Am I right?"
"Right and sane, after all," nodded Dick.
"Therefore," pursued Dan, "if the board members are dead ones,
why not go ahead and bury them? Or, at the least, show our kindly
interest in that direction. See here, fellows"---here Dan lowered
his voice to the faintest sort of whisper, while the other partners
gathered close about him---"tonight we fellows can scatter over
the town, and drop into different telephone booths where we're
not known. We can call up seven different undertakers, convey
to them a hint that there's a dead one at the Board Room, and
state that the victim of our call is wanted there at once.
"What good would that do?" demanded Dick, after a thoughtful pause.
"Why," proposed Dan Dalzell, "if seven undertakers call, all within
five minutes, won't it be a delicate way of conveying the hint
that a Board of Education that thinks it can stop football is
composed of dead ones? You see, there'll be an undertaker for
each member of the Board. Don't you think the idea---the hint---would
soak through even those seven dull old heads?"
Tom, Harry and Dave began to chuckle, though they looked puzzled.
"Well, if you ask _me_," decided Dick, after more thought, "I have
just one answer. The scheme is too grisly. Besides, we've nothing
against the undertakers that should make us willing to waste their
time. Moreover, Dan we're in the High School, and we're expected
to be gentlemen. Now, does your scheme strike you as just the
prank for a lot of gentlemen."
"Say, don't look the thing over too closely," protested Dan, more
soberly, "or you'll find lots of bad holes in the scheme. Yet,
somehow, we've got to bring it to the attention of the Board that,
if they go against High School football, they're real dead ones."
"I've just an idea we can do that," spoke Dick Prescott, reflectively.
"We can rig the scheme over, so as to save seven estimable business
men from starting out on fools' errands. And we can drive the
lesson home to the Board just as hard---perhaps harder."
At these hopeful words from the chief the partners pricked up
their ears, then crowded closer.
"In the first place," began Dick, "Dan's scheme---beg your pardon,
old fellow---is clumsy, grisly and likely to come back as a club
to hit us over the head. Now, you all know Len Spencer, the
'Morning Blade' reporter. He's a regular 'fan' over the football
and baseball teams, and follows them everywhere in the seasons.
You also know that Len is a pretty good friend of mine. If I
put Len up to a scheme that will furnish him with good 'copy'
for two mornings, he'll put it through for me, and be as mum as
an oyster."
"How can Len help us in anything?" demanded Dave Darrin, wonderingly.
"Listen!" ordered Dick Prescott, with a twinkle in his eyes.
When Dick & Co. hurried back at the close of recess they felt
serene and content. All the partners felt that Dick Prescott,
the most fertile boy in ideas at the Central Grammar School, was
going to be able to save the day for football. For Dick had propounded
a scheme that was sure to work---barring accidents!
That evening the Board of Education met in dull and stately session.
These meetings were generally so dull and devoid of real news
that the local press was content to get its account from the secretary's
minutes. Tonight was no exception in this respect. No reporter
was present when Chairman Stone rapped for order. Seven excellent
men were these who sat around the long table. Most of them had
made their mark in local business, or in the professions. Yet,
as it happened, none of these excellent men had ever made a mark
in athletics in earlier years. As they appeared to have succeeded
excellently in life without football the members of the Board
were inclined to reason that football must be a bad thing.
After the session had droned along for three-quarters of an hour,
and all routine business had been transacted, Chairman Stone looked
about at his fellow Board members.
"Gentlemen," he began, "we have noticed that, during October and
November, the High School percentages, especially those of the
young men, are prone to fall a bit. There can be but one cause
for this---the football craze. There are signs that this stupid
athletic folly will take a greater hold than ever, this year,
on our High School students. I thought it best to ask Dr. Thornton
to caution the students that any such falling-off of percentages
this year might make it necessary for us to forbid High School
football."
"It was an excellent idea to give such a warning, Mr. Chairman,"
nodded Mr. Hegler.
"So I thought," replied Chairman Stone, complacently. "Yet, while
we have been in session this evening, I have been wondering why
it would not be a good plan to promote scholarship at once by
summarily forbidding football."
"Even for the balance of this present season?" asked Mr. Chesbritt,
ponderously.
"Even for the balance of this season," confirmed Mr. Stone.
There were murmurs of approval. Just at that moment, however,
the door opened suddenly, and Reporter Len Spencer, a bright-faced
young man of twenty-two, hurried in on tip-toe. Then, suddenly,
he halted, looking unutterably astonished.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Chairman and gentlemen," murmured
the reporter. "But I did not expect to find you in session."
"And why not, Mr. Spencer?" demanded the chairman, crisply.
"Why, I---er---I---well, to be candid, gentlemen, 'The Blade'
had information that some one had died here."
"Died here?" gasped Chairman Stone. "Upon my word that would
be a most extraordinary thing to do in the presence of this Board.
Where did you get such very remarkable information, young man?"
"It was telephoned to 'The Blade' office," Len Spencer replied.
"By whom?"
"I---I really don't know," replied the young reporter, looking
much embarrassed. "I don't believe our editor, Mr. Pollock, does,
either. The news came in over the 'phone. Mr. Pollock told me
to rush up here and get all the facts."
"The facts," retorted Mr. Stone, dryly, "would be most difficult
for the members of this Board to furnish. Indeed, the only fact
in which we are interested would be the name of the person who-----"
Ting-a-ling-ling! As the telephone bell jangled Chairman Stone
drew the desk instrument toward him, holding the receiver to his
ear.
"Hullo!" hailed a voice. "Is that the Board of Education's office?"
"It is," confessed Chairman Stone.
"Is our reporter, Spencer, there? If so, I would like to talk
with him."
"Yes, he's right here, Mr. Pollock. And from the extraordinary
information he has brought us, I think he needs a talking-to. Wait
a moment."
Chairman Stone passed the instrument to Len Spencer. The members
of the Board felt curiosity enough to leave their seats and gather
at the head of the table. They could hear Editor Pollock's voice
as it ran on:
"Hullo, Spencer. Say, I've just had another 'phone from that
same party. He says that he sent in his information a bit twisted.
What he meant to tell us was that there are _seven dead ones_ in
the Board of Education who know so little about public spirit
and pride in our boys that they are even considering the idea
of forbidding High School football."
"Oh, that's it, eh?" asked Spencer, solemnly. "Seven dead ones?"
"Yes; of course you've already discovered that there's no real
tragedy up at the Board, unless they're actually planning some
move against football."
The seven members of the School Board looked at one another blankly,
wonderingly.
"Who sent you that message over the 'phone?" questioned the reporter.
The seven Board members pricked up their ears still more keenly.
"I don't know," came Editor Pollock's voice. "But I suspect it
came from the Business Men's Club. That's a wide-awake and progressive
crowd, you know, and full of local pride, even in our High School
boys. But, Spencer, I'm in just a bit of a fix. I had already
run out six lines on the bulletin board announcing that a sudden
death had taken place in the School Board meeting. Now, I've
got to run out another bulletin and explain. Spencer, you'd better
come back here on the jump. Good-bye!"
As the bell rang off, and the reporter laid the instrument back
on the table, he said:
"Gentlemen, I am ordered back to my office in haste. Yet, before
I go, as a matter of news interest, I think I'd better ask you
whether any action is going to be taken forbidding football in
the High School?"
"N-n-not to the best of our knowledge," stammered Chairman Stone.
"We have---taken no action along that line."
"Are you likely to take any such action tonight?"
"I---I---think not."
"Thank you, and goodnight, gentlemen. I offer you my apology
and 'The Blade's' for having intruded on you in this fashion."
As soon as the members of the Board were alone Chairman Stone
glanced about him, and remarked:
"So, it appears, gentlemen, that, if we do not favor High School
football, we shall be regarded as what are termed 'dead ones'!"