DICK'S PLAN
Rain was coming down heavily when Dick finished the game, and he looked
out from the poolroom with rather a rueful face as he heard the
downpour.
"I'll run you back in my car," offered Porter. "We can stop at Martin's
on the way in, and have a jolly little supper. What do you say, Ham?"
Dick rather resented being called "Ham" by a youth who had known him but
a short time. Likewise he did not care to stop at Martin's. So he
covered his dislike as best he could, and answered:
"No, thank you. I have some business to attend to, and I don't want to
keep you. Go on back to Kentfield, and I'll take a taxicab when I've
finished with my matters."
"Oh, I suppose you follow in the footsteps of the governor, and are in
business too," almost sneered Weston.
"Well, I help my father whenever I can," answered Dick, as the blood
surged up under his coat of tan. "Sorry I couldn't beat you, Mr.
Porter. I hope to have better luck next time."
"You want to bring along all the luck you have, Hamilton," declared the
rich lad, as he put on his coat, while Dick settled for the games, which
he had almost purposely lost in order that he might have a better excuse
for talking to Porter. "I'm a pretty good shot," and he laughed in
Dick's face.
"So I see," agreed Dick.
"Then you won't motor back with us?" asked Porter, for he had an
expensive machine, which was in the repair shop a good part of the time,
owing to his reckless driving.
"No, I've got several matters to attend to," answered Dick, and he
watched the two cronies going out together.
The storm continued, the rain coming down harder than ever, and, as Dick
had no umbrella he decided to go down to the telegraph office in a
taxicab, a service but newly installed in the college town, but which
was taken advantage of by many students.
Dick was not a spendthrift, and he knew the value of money. Still, when
he did not have to count his dollars, he did not see the harm in
spending a few in hiring an auto cab, when he had no umbrella.
A few minutes later he was bowling along the rain-swept streets toward
the telegraph office which he had but recently left.
"Dad will think I'm making the wires hot," he mused, as the taxicab
careened along, "but I guess I'd better keep him informed right up to
date. That Mr. Porter means business, if I'm any judge. Probably he has
a syndicate of rich men back of him, and they are trying to get control
of father's interests. But we'll put a stop to that if possible.
"What a cad that Porter fellow is, with his billiard shots, and his
cigarettes! I could have beaten him easily, if I'd wanted to, but if I
had he might have turned sulky, and wouldn't have talked so much. As it
is I've gotten some good information out of him."
Dick leaned back on the cushions and let his thoughts wander free. As he
had said, there were two big problems ahead of him. He wanted to see the
cadet football team triumph on the gridiron, and he wanted to help his
father get ahead of his enemies.
Both matters were important to Dick, for he realized that his father's
interests, being now so much bound up in the trolley line, would suffer
seriously if antagonists got in control.
As for football, our hero, who was one of the best members of the team,
wanted to see his eleven at the head of the Military League.
And, for several seasons past Kentfield had been the tail-ender, and
practically out of the league. True, they had won some games, and big
ones, too, but it was more like a sudden spurt, and then the cadets
seemed to go "stale," and played in such poor form that inferior teams
beat them.
"It's got to stop," said Dick to himself. "We've got to win, and if I
can put my plan through, and I don't see why I can't, we'll be at the
top of the heap pretty soon. That is if the fellows will work. And
they've got to! By Jove I'm not going to stay at a college where a
little dinky team like the one from Blue Hill, can put it all over us,
and write such letters as Beeby got to-day.
"Poor Beeby! He felt it a heap. It was like the time when we were
marooned on that island, and he managed to snap-shot a lot of birds, and
came in to tell us about them. We thought he meant he had killed them
for dinner. Oh, that was a time all right!" and Dick fell to thinking of
the adventures he had gone through when he was taking the first voyage
in his steam yacht.
The taxicab came to a sudden stop. The young millionaire looked out, and
through the rain he saw the telegraph office.
"I guess the man will think I'm running a regular brokerage business,"
he reflected as he alighted and went in. He sent a message to his
father, telling what he had heard from Porter during the billiard game,
and warning Mr. Hamilton to be on the watch for treachery.
"There, I guess that will make dad get busy," said the lad. "Now I'll
wait for further instructions, and devote a little time to planning out
what I want to do for the football team. We've got to be champions of
the league or I'll know the reason why. What's the good of money if it
can't get you what you want?"
"Where to now, sir?" asked the taxi-driver, as Dick got in the machine
again. "Like to go around town for a while? Most of the cadets do when
they get out."
"Back to the college," ordered Dick a bit curtly, for he did not like
the familiar tone of the man.
"Hum, he must be one of those tight-wads," thought the driver, as he
threw in his gears and started off. "I like a fellow that spends money."
If he had known how much Dick Hamilton _could_ have spent had our hero
been so inclined, the taxi-man might have had a different opinion of
him.
The machine was bowling along at a good speed, through the principal
street of the town, preparatory to turning off on the road that led to
the military academy. It was a cab with the front of glass, and Dick
could look out at one side of the driver, and observe what was going on.
Suddenly, as they crossed a side street, an elderly man, with a big,
old-fashioned umbrella held low over his head, ran out directly in front
of the cab.
"Look out! Stop!" cried Dick, involuntarily jumping up. "You'll run him
down!"
The driver was on the alert, however, and jammed on the brakes with a
practiced hand, and a quick foot. With a shudder of springs and a
shriek of metal the cab came to a stop. Not before, however, it had run
into the man with the big umbrella, upsetting him, though so gently that
he was not hurt. His rain-shield however, was crumpled up and his legs
were entangled in it.
Before the driver could leave his seat, Dick had jumped out and gone to
the aid of the pedestrian.
"I hope you're not hurt!" the lad exclaimed, as he helped the aged man
to arise. "I'm very sorry it happened. I guess you held your umbrella so
low that you couldn't see us coming."
For clearly it was not the fault of the driver that the accident had
occurred.
"Ha! Hum! So that's what you think, eh?" demanded the man in a rasping
voice, as he fairly grabbed the broken umbrella from Dick's hand. "Here
I be, walking peaceably along the street, trying to protect myself from
the rain, when you reckless military students come along in one of those
fire-snorting new-fangled automobiles, and run me down. It was all your
fault, and if I could see a policeman I'd have you both locked up! How
many of those tin soldiers from the military academy have you in there
anyhow? Cadets! Humph! Much better be at some honest business instead of
learning to kill folks! Are there any more of you? If there are, come
out, and I'll give you a piece of my mind! Learning murder as a fine
art! How many in there?" and he glared at the taxicab.
"I'm the only one," said Dick modestly.
"Hum! Too mean to let some one else ride with you, I reckon. Well, it
was all your fault, and you'll have to settle with me. Duncaster is my
name, Enos Duncaster, and I don't intend to be imposed upon."
Dick could not help thinking how like his uncle Erza Mr. Duncaster was.
"It was your fault, you old hayseeder!" cried the taxicab man with a
nervous voice, for he had been mortally afraid of a fatal accident.
"What do you want to run under a machine that way for? Hey? Why can't
you look where you're going?"
"Young man!" exclaimed Mr. Duncaster in a calm voice, "if I didn't know
that you were excited you'd pay dearly for this. You don't know me, but
I'll say, for your information, that I own enough stock in this taxicab
company to have you discharged. I'm sorry I ever invested in it, but I
didn't know them machines were so rip-snorting. Now you can go on, but
first give me your names."
"What for?" demanded the driver suspiciously.
"Oh, in case I find I have worse injuries than a broken umbrella,"
replied the elderly man with a half-smile. "I may want to bring suit
against the company in which I hold stock."
"Well, my name is Martin," replied the driver, "James Martin. I
certainly didn't mean to run you down, Mr. Duncaster. But the rain was
in my eyes, and----"
"That will do," said the man with an air of authority. "Now who are
you--my young soldier lad? I don't believe in this war business, but the
country seems to be going crazy over it, so I might as well keep still.
Who are you?"
"Hamilton--Dick Hamilton is my name."
"Hum--Hamilton--no relation to Mortimer Hamilton; are you?"
"He is my father."
"What."
"I say he is my father."
"Why that's odd--I'm--no, never mind--so you're Mortimer Hamilton's son;
eh? I heard he had one, and that he was going to some sort of military
school. I'm sorry to see it. And so you're the one who ran me down? And
you haven't a crowd of roistering students with you?"
"No, I'm all alone. I've been attending to some business for my father."
"Hum! Business, yes. That's about all Mortimer Hamilton does. Well, you
may go. I know where to find both of you in case I want you."
The odd old man gathered up what was left of his umbrella, and,
declining the aid of a policeman who came up to see what the gathering
crowd meant, Mr. Duncaster walked off.
"We got out of that lucky," commented the taxi-driver, as Dick
re-entered the vehicle. "I sure thought he would fire me. Who'd think
old man Duncaster would be up here?"
"Is he really a wealthy man?" asked Dick.
"You bet he is. He lives away down in the country somewhere, and all he
does is to cut off the interest coupons from his bonds. He's a
millionaire, but you'd never think it to look at him. The idea of
walking, when he could hire a machine and ride. But he's close--awful
close."
"I hope he doesn't make trouble," commented our hero. "If he does, let
me know. In spite of who he is I think it was his own fault that we hit
him."
"Sure it was," declared the driver heartily.
Dick was soon back at school and his first visit was to the society
house of the Sacred Pig. He found only a few of his cadet chums there,
as it was nearing mess time, and they had gone to dress for the meal.
"Well, you're a fine fellow to run off and desert us the way you did!"
cried Innis Beeby, as he clapped Dick on the shoulder. "What's your
great scheme about a football team? The fellows are half wild trying to
guess. Couldn't you explain before you hiked away?"
"No, didn't have time."
"Then tell me now."
"No, I'd like all the fellows to be together when they hear it and then
they won't get it twisted. I'll meet you all here after grub, and tell
you what I think of doing."
"All right; it's a go."
Dick found a goodly crowd waiting for him in the main room of the club
house, for word had gone around of what was about to take place. Our
hero wasted no time on preliminaries.
"Boys," he began, "you know as well as I do, that we have received an
insulting letter from the Blue Hill academy. Our football team, of which
I have the honor to be a member----"
"Hurray for the team!" cried Paul Drew. "Long may she wave, o'er the
land----"
"Order in the ranks!" cried Innis Beeby, who was presiding.
"Our team needs strengthening," went on Dick. "There is no use ignoring
the facts before us. We never have had a first class team--that is, to
judge by the records of the past. We have not a good team now, and I'm
as bad as the worst member, so I'm not shielding myself. That being the
case, what's to be done?"
"Get a new team!" called someone.
"Revamp the old one," cried another.
"That's my idea exactly," went on Dick. "We must use the material we
have, but with this restriction--there must be a fair field and no
favors. The best men must be picked on the team."
"Sure!" cried someone.
"But who's going to do the picking?" demanded Beeby.
"That's what I'm coming to," went on Dick. "I was going to tell you my
plan, when I had to leave this afternoon."
"Tell it now!" was the general shout.
"This is it!" replied the young millionaire. "You know what good
coaching can do for a team. I think that's what we need, and it is
casting no reflection on the present coaches, for we all know they can
devote only a little time to the work. Now what I propose is this: We
can get two of the best coaches in the country--say one from Yale and
one from Princeton. They can come here, and in a few weeks I'm sure they
can whip our team into shape. We have the material--all it needs is to
be developed."
"That's right--but how can we afford to pay for a Yale and a Princeton
coach?" demanded George Hall.
"I'll attend to that end," replied Dick calmly. "This is my treat. I
want Kentfield to have the best eleven in the league, and if coaching
can do it we'll have it. Then we can win some games. I'll pay for the
coaches, and we'll see what they can do. That was my football scheme.
What do you think of it, fellows?"