NOT SO MUCH OF A FRESHMAN
The next morning's "Blade" contained a column and a half, written
in Reporter Spencer's most picturesque vein. The headlines ran:
"School Board Hoaxed. Gentle Jokers Convey a Needed Hint. Football
Not to Be Barred in High School. 'Blade' Reporter a First-off
Victim in the Service of Public Spirit."
It was a fine article, from a High School boy's point of view.
It was an article, too, which, in a city ruled by a lively public
spirit, was likely to tie the hands of a Board of Education that
did not care to fly in the face of public opinion.
Dick Prescott, before he went in to breakfast, read the article
in secret, with many a chuckle.
"You seem much interested in the newspaper, Richard," said his
father, when the young freshman came to table, still holding
'The Blade.'"
"Yes, sir. You know I have set my heart on making the H.S. eleven
just as soon as I strike a higher class. I was afraid the School
Board would abolish the game from our school. Now, I know they
won't."
"Hm! Let me see 'The Blade.'"
Mr. Prescott glanced through the article, a faint twinkle showing
in his eyes.
"The School Board may stop High School football," commented Mr.
Prescott, laying aside the paper. "They _may_, but it would
take a good deal of courage, for that article will start Gridley
on a furor of enthusiasm for the game. I wonder who got up that
hoax."
"Why, Dad, 'The Blade,' hints at some one down at the Business
Men's Club."
"Hm! I wonder who wrote the article."
"Perhaps Len Spencer," replied Dick. "You know, Dad, he's a great
fan for all our H.S. sports."
"I can just see Jason Stone reading that article at _his_ breakfast
table this morning," smiled Mr. Prescott. "Stone is a great
sail-trimmer, always afraid of the man who casts a vote."
"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Prescott, coming in breezily from
the kitchen.
Dick explained the news to his mother.
"Abolish football at the High School!" echoed Mrs. Prescott, indignantly.
"And I've been sharing your great wish Dick, to make the team
when you're old enough. They shan't do it, anyway, Dick, until
you've had your chance on the eleven!"
"No, mother," replied the boy, very quietly; "I don't believe
they will."
With a sudden rush of recollection of other pranks in which she
had known her son to be engaged in the grammar school days, Mrs.
Prescott shot a sudden, wondering glance at him. But Dick, looking
utterly innocent, was chewing his food.
Frank Thompson, Ben Badger and Ted Butler, all seniors, and stars
on the H.S. football team, had risen early that morning, every
one of them feeling glum over the dread that the great sport might
be "killed" for them. They were the only members of the eleven
who happened to see "The Blade" early. In consequence, these
three husky young Americans were on the street early. Just as
naturally they ran into each other.
"Whoop!" yelled Thompson, when he came in sight of his pals.
"Wow!" observed Ben.
"And some more!" glowed Butler.
"Will they stop football _now_?" demanded Thompson.
"Not while anyone is looking," averred Butler.
"But say, it was great of the Business Men's Club to make such
a stroke for us," went on Badger, enthusiastically.
"Yes," admitted Frank Thompson, "if that was where it came from.
I guess it was, all right."
Arm in arm the three went off down the street, feeling as though
the world had turned right side up once more.
Dick met his partners on the way to the High School. All were
grinning quietly.
"You're the genius, Dick," admitted Dan Dalzell, cordially. "My
undertaker scheme would have been ghastly. It would have taken
all the edge off the joke---would have spoiled it, and the joke
would have been a club that would have hit us over the head.
But, say! I wonder if the Grannies' Club will dare to touch our
sacred football now!"
"Don't waste any time wondering," chuckled Tom Reade. "They wont."
It was a happy day in the famous old Gridley High School. Actually,
the recitations went off better than they had done on any day
since term opening.
Dick Prescott was out on the street rather early that afternoon.
He wanted to run across Len Spencer, and chose Main Street as
the most likely thoroughfare for the purpose. He met the reporter
at the head of a little alleyway.
"Well, Dick, how did you like it?" was the reporter's greeting.
"Say, it was great!" Dick bubbled over.
"What do they think down at H.S.?"
"Think?" repeated young Prescott. "Why, everybody is in ecstasies.
The gloom of yesterday has vanished like the mist from a cheap
cigar. You're suspected of writing the article, too, Len. If
the High School students can find any proof that you did you'll
get a rouser in the way of handsome treatment."
The two had stepped down just off the street into the alleyway.
"Does everyone seem to believe that the job was put up at the
Business Men's Club?" Dick asked.
"Sure thing," nodded Len Spencer. "And no member of the Club
will deny it, either, for the thing has struck the popular side
of the town. Why, by tonight, there'll be at least a dozen of
the members, each confidentially telling his friends that _he_
conceived the whole trick."
"That'll make it all the stronger," nodded Dick. "Good thing."
"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 freshie, by name Dick Prescott!"
"You won't let it out, Len, that I had any hand in it?" asked
Dick, quickly.
"Oh, not I," promised Len, quickly. "I gave you my word on that,
son, didn't I?"
"Now, see here," Dick 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," assented 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 Dick, 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 Dick.
"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 association. 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 Dick. "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-----"
Dick 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, Dick, if you hadn't set the ball rolling."
"Then he knows the big part that my chums and I took in the game?"
asked Dick, his face showing his concern.
"Yes; but don't worry. Old Pollock is as mum as the grave about
such things. Now, so long, Dick, 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 Dick Prescott
turned toward the street. As he did so, he jumped back.
"We want you, freshie!" 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, freshie---and I hope
you'll come along without making any row."
Despite the severity of the looks in the faces of these three
seniors, Dick 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 substitutes 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 classmen. "You come in with a roar, and all you
bring with you is---just a poor, insignificant little freshie."
"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 hoarse yells, as the football
men rushed forward, crowding about Dick 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 "freshie." Had
the enthusiasm been less intense Dick 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 classman might have
been serious. Dick knew better. Clearing his throat he related
all he could recall of how the plot came to be hatched. Nor was
Dick 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 Dick & Co.
"'Twas a great thought, and carried out like a campaign," declared
Ben Badger. There was more cheering. Then Frank Thompson dragged
Dick forward once more before the lined-up team.
"Fellows," proposed Thompson, "we owe this freshie-----"
"Stop that!" roared one of the fellows. "Prescott may be
young---painfully young---but he's no freshie."
"Then," amended Thompson, with grave dignity, "we owe a handsome
reward to this---upper classman. 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 Dick & 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 class you're all six of
you freshmen. Now, what is expected of a freshman?"
"Why," laughed Dick, "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, "Dick & 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_
fresh! Mix in with the upper classmen, 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 class dances this
winter Dick & 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 class
against the superior upper classes. Finally, you can get sassy
with all upper classman 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 Dick, over the hubbub.
"Yes. Go ahead! Get it out quick!"
"Then please don't let out a word," begged young Prescott, "about
Dick & Co., as we fellows are called, being at the bottom of the
plot against the Board of Education."
"Not a word!" promised Captain Edgeworth, gravely.
Then Dick was hustled good-naturedly to the door, Ben Badger once
more springing forward to hold it open. As Dick hurried out onto
the sidewalk a hurricane of cheers followed him. Then, as the
door was closing, came a fierce burst of the High School yell.
Just as it happened, this parting salute couldn't have been worse
timed. Within four doors Dr. Thornton, the principal, was sauntering
slowly along. He heard tine hubbub, of course, and looked up,
to see Dick Prescott coming out alone, a pleased look on his flushed
face.
Across the street, just coming out of a store, was Chairman Jason
Stone of the Gridley Board of Education.
"Young Prescott! Bless my soul!" murmured Dr. Thornton. "Why
are the football team making such a row over that young freshman?"
In another instant the principal's question all but answered itself.
"Why, I wonder," muttered the good doctor, "if the enthusiasm
in any way relates to the hoax on the Board. Was Prescott at
the bottom of it? I'll keep it in mind and try to find out!"
"If the football crew are making all that row over a mere freshman,"
thought Chairman Stone, "then young Prescott must be the inventor
of the yarn that has made Gridley wonder whether we of the Board
are so many 'dead ones.' Hm! hm! I'll find out if that's the
case. Such a trick is clearly one that would call for expelling
the young man from the High School!"