DICK HAMILTON'S FOOTBALL TEAM
OR
A YOUNG MILLIONAIRE ON THE GRIDIRON
BY HOWARD R. GARIS
AUTHOR OF "DICK HAMILTON'S FORTUNE," "DICK HAMILTON'S CADET DAYS,"
"DICK HAMILTON'S STEAM YACHT," "FROM OFFICE BOY TO REPORTER," "LARRY
DEXTER'S GREAT SEARCH," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING CO.
CLEVELAND
MADE IN U. S. A.
Copyright, 1912, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PRESS OF
THE COMMERCIAL BOOKBINDING CO.
CLEVELAND
[Illustration: "GRAB HIM! DON'T LET HIM GET PAST YOU!" CALLED TOM
COLETON.]
PREFACE
MY DEAR BOYS:
In writing this, the fourth volume of the "Dick Hamilton Series,"
telling of the doings of the young millionaire on the gridiron, I have
had one particular thought in mind. That was to make as interesting a
story as possible for you. Now that it is finished, it is for you to say
whether or not you like it. I trust I may be pardoned if I say I hope
that you will.
When Dick returned to the Kentfield Military Academy after his vacation
on his steam yacht, he found the football team of which he was a member,
in poor shape. In fact the eleven was laughed at by other military
schools, one of which refused to accept a challenge that Kentfield sent.
How Dick hired a coach from Princeton and one from Yale, and how they
"whipped" the team into shape, how championship material was made from
them, you will find told of in this book.
There is also related how Dick worked to save his father's wealth by
getting possession of certain electric road stock, which was held by a
crabbed old man who disliked cadets and football. Of course there is
also something about the bulldog, Grit, in this book, and about Uncle
Ezra Larabee, and the doings of our hero's friends and enemies are fully
set forth.
Again expressing the hope that you will find this story interesting, and
that you will care to hear more of Dick Hamilton, I remain,
Yours cordially,
HOWARD R. GARIS.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TURNED DOWN 1
II. WAR ON MR. HAMILTON 8
III. DICK'S PLAN 15
IV. FOOTBALL PRACTICE 26
V. DISQUIETING NEWS 36
VI. MR. DUNCASTER AGAIN 45
VII. THE COACHES ARRIVE 54
VIII. THE TRY-OUT 64
IX. THE ACCUSATION 72
X. DICK IS REBUFFED 78
XI. A RIVALRY 89
XII. THE MIDNIGHT ALARM 96
XIII. THE RESCUE OF DUTTON 101
XIV. THE ELECTION 111
XV. THE GAME WITH DUNKIRK 118
XVI. A DARING PLAN 126
XVII. UNCLE EZRA ARRIVES 135
XVIII. ANOTHER FRUITLESS ATTEMPT 142
XIX. A GREAT STRUGGLE 151
XX. JOINING THE LEAGUE 169
XXI. READY FOR BLUE HILL 175
XXII. THE BLUE HILL GAME 182
XXIII. SORE HEARTS 199
XXIV. TREACHERY 205
XXV. A DESPERATE RACE 212
XXVI. ANOTHER GAME 222
XXVII. DICK IS SUMMONED 231
XXVIII. "LINE UP!" 238
XXIX. HAMMER AND SMASH 246
XXX. THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN 255
XXXI. THE TROLLEY STOCK--CONCLUSION 264
DICK HAMILTON'S FOOTBALL TEAM
CHAPTER I
TURNED DOWN
"Well, if those fellows haven't got nerve!"
"I should say so! Why it's a direct insult!"
"We ought to challenge 'em to a sham battle. I know we could put it all
over 'em at that game, if we can't at football; eh, fellows?"
"Sure thing!" came in a chorus from a group of cadets who surrounded a
rather fat, good-natured companion. The latter held an open letter in
his hand, and had just finished reading it, the contents causing the
various exclamations.
"Say, Beeby," spoke Paul Drew, "are you sure it isn't a joke? Maybe
they're just trying to have fun with us."
"Fun! This is serious enough," replied the stout youth, "Frank Anderson,
manager of the Blue Hill Academy eleven, takes pains to be very
explicit. Listen."
Once more Beeby read the note.
"In reply to your challenge for a series of football games, in the
Military League, and your request that we give you a contest at an
early date, we regret to say that our team cannot play yours. To be
frank, we do not think that your eleven is in the same class with
ours. We won nearly every game we played last season, and, you
know, as well as do we, that Kentfield was away down at the tail
end.
"It is the sense of the Athletic Committee of Blue Hill Military
Academy that we must play with teams of greater strength and in a
better class than the one that represents Kentfield. If you wish,
perhaps I can arrange some games with our second team, but not with
the first.
"Regretting very much that we cannot accept your challenge, I
remain,
"Yours very truly,
"FRANK ANDERSON, Manager."
"Well, wouldn't that put a crimp in your bayonet?" demanded John Stiver.
"They'll condescend to let their second team come over and beat us!"
exclaimed Ray Dutton sarcastically. "Bur-r-r-r-r!"
"Oh, say, this makes me mad!" spluttered Beeby, and he made as though to
tear the letter to shreds.
"Don't! Wait a minute!" begged Paul Drew. "Let's talk this over a bit,
first. Something's got to be done about it. We can't let this insult
pass. I wish Dick Hamilton was here."
"Where is he?" asked Beeby, as he folded the crumpled letter.
"He went to town to send a message home, I guess. He'll soon be back."
"Let's go to the Sacred Pig, and talk this over," suggested Dutton, as
he opened a few buttons on his tightly fitting parade coat, for drill
among the cadets was just over, and they had not yet gotten into their
fatigue uniforms.
"Yes, let's plan some scheme to get even with those Blue Hill snobs,"
added Paul. "Say Toots," he went on to one of the janitors about the
academy, "if you see Mr. Hamilton, just send him over to the Sacred Pig,
will you?"
"I sure will, Mr. Drew," and Toots, so called because he was generally
whistling some military air, saluted.
The cadets still talking among themselves about the churlish letter they
had received, passed on toward a society chapter house--that of the
Sacred Pig--one of the most exclusive organizations among the cadets of
Kentfield.
"If Anderson wanted to turn us down why didn't he simply say that all
their dates were filled?" demanded Beeby, on whom the blow fell
especially heavy, as he was manager of the eleven.
"Well, if the truth _had_ to be told I suppose it might as well come out
first as last," spoke Paul frankly.
"The truth!" demanded Innis Beeby, half indignantly.
"Yes! Kentfield hasn't a good team, and we all know it. It's no one's
fault in particular," went on Paul, "but we don't practice enough, we
don't play well enough together, and we were the tail-enders last year.
We might as well face the music."
"Even if it isn't particularly harmonious," commented Innis bitterly, as
he walked up the steps of the handsome society house. "Well, let's see
what we can do."
The rest of the cadets followed, to be greeted by a number of other
students who were already gathered in the pleasant reading room. There
was a general movement toward the newcomers when the news quickly
flashed around, and the letter was passed from hand to hand.
There were more comments, caustic ones in the main, and had Manager
Anderson been present he would probably have had several challenges to
fight, for the feeling was bitter against him.
"You can't beat this for nerve!" declared Jim Watkins.
"I say, let's get up a good team, and force 'em to play us," suggested
Teddy Naylor.
"How are you going to force 'em?" demanded Frank Rutley.
"Why, play such fast and snappy games that they can't refuse us--get in
the champion class--_make_ 'em recognize us."
"Oh, it's easy enough to talk," murmured Innis, "but when it comes to a
football team----"
"What's the matter with the football team?" demanded a new voice, and a
tall, good-looking cadet, bronzed almost to a copper color, came in.
"Are we going to have practice to-day?"
"Hello, Dick!"
"Glad you came in, Hamilton."
"You're just in time to hear the news."
These were some of the expressions that greeted the advent of the
newcomer. Dick Hamilton pressed up into the group of indignant lads, and
accepted the letter which Innis held out to him.
"Read that!" spluttered the stout lad.
As Dick read a dull flush crept up under his coat of tan.
"Um!" was his only comment for a moment. Then he said: "Well, he didn't
soften it any. But how about it; isn't it almost true?"
"That's what I say," cried Paul Drew.
"We haven't a very good team, that's a fact," admitted Jim Watkins, who
played centre.
"Oh, bosh! You fellows make me tired," declared Innis. "You are almost
as bad as Anderson."
"Well, we ought to perk up."
"Oh pshaw! We can play all right."
"All we need is practice."
"And a little harder work against the scrub."
These and other comments flew back and forth. Dick Hamilton strolled
toward an easy chair near a table. Casually he picked up a paper, and
glanced over it as the discussion waxed warmer. There were two sides,
one set of cadets holding that the eleven was not so bad, and the others
maintaining that the players should not shut their eyes to facts, but
endeavor to correct their faults. Both factions numbered members of the
team, so it could not be said that prejudice shaped the opinions.
"Well, what do think about it, Dick?" asked Paul at length, as he sat
down beside his roommate.
"About what?" asked the young millionaire, somewhat absently-mindedly.
"Well, for the love of mustard! Have you been dreaming while all this
racket was going on? And you read that letter, too! I say, Dick, what's
up?"
"Oh, yes, I remember now. I was thinking of something else," and Dick
recovered himself with an effort, seeming to bring his thoughts back
from some distant point. "The football team."
"Of course, the eleven--or, rather, the woeful lack of one. What's to be
done, Dick? I rather thought you might have a scheme, when you heard the
news."
There was silence in the room for a moment, and nearly all eyes were
turned on Dick Hamilton.
"A plan--yes--I might--by Jove, fellows, I believe I have a plan!" he
exclaimed suddenly. "It ought to work, too. We've got to have the best
team on the gridiron in the Military League, and just now I thought of
something that will bring it about."
"Then in the name of the two-horned rhinoceros speak it quickly!" begged
Innis. "Say something so I can get back at this dub Anderson. I'll write
him a hot one!"
"Oh, it will take a little while to put it through," went on the young
millionaire, "but I believe I can do it. Now my plan is----"
At that moment one of the pages employed at the society house, which was
sort of cadet club, approached the eager group of students.
"Beg pardon," the page said, "but here is a telegram that just came for
Mr. Hamilton."
Dick tore open the yellow envelope. He read the message at a glance and
seemed to start as at the receipt of unwelcome news.
"I've got to go out for a while," he said to his chums. "I'll be back as
soon as possible. This is important."
"But your football plan," begged Innis.
"I'll tell it when I come back," called Dick Hamilton as he hurried out,
leaving a much-wondering group of cadets looking after him.