JOINING THE LEAGUE
They had to carry Dick off the field, but there was a happy smile on his
face in spite of the terrible pain of his injured ankle.
"Only one touchdown and a goal against us, and the best team Haskell
could put in the field, fellows!" exulted the plucky captain. "It's
almost as good as a victory."
"There could be no more honorable defeat," murmured Coach Martin.
"I should say not!" exclaimed his colleague. "Our work hasn't gone for
nothing."
"Let me congratulate you, Captain Hamilton!" cried the captain of
Haskell, as he strode up to shake Dick's hand. "We sure thought we would
wipe up the earth with you, but--well, we were astonished, to put it
mildly."
"We'll beat you next time," said Dick simply.
"I shouldn't be surprised but what you did," he agreed. "You certainly
have improved wonderfully. Where'd you get those coaches?" for the two
had walked on in advance.
"Oh, they were a sort of an experiment," answered the young
millionaire, "but it worked out all right. Kentfield needed some
improvement and----"
"She's more than got it!" cried the other captain. "Boys, three cheers
for the pluckiest team we ever went up against!" he called, and how the
cries rang out; bringing joy and a mist of tears to the eyes of our
injured hero.
"Three cheers for Haskell!" called Dick in return, and the compliment
was given.
"We'd have scored again but for that plucky tackle of yours, and your
kick," said the guard whom Dick had thrown in the nick of time. "Hurt
yourself much?"
"No, it's only where I twisted my ankle before. I'll be all right in a
few days, and ready for more games."
The crowd was thronging from the field, as Dick was carried into the
dressing room. There some hot applications, and skillful bandaging, put
his ankle in such shape that he could manage to get around on a cane
that some one provided.
"It was great! Great, old man!" cried Paul, circling in delight about
his chum. "I never thought we could do it. Did you really think we would
win? I hope you're not disappointed."
"Only a little," admitted Dick. "I hoped we might win up to the time I
saw their team come out on the field. Then I knew they were too much for
us. But we held them down!"
"Indeed we did."
"And the next thing to do is to get into the Military League, and wipe
out the unnecessary insult that Blue Hill handed to us, by giving them
the worst drubbing they ever had."
"Sure," assented Paul.
There was quite a crowd of hero-worshippers outside the dressing rooms,
waiting to get a sight of Dick and his men, and cheer them. Among the
throng our hero espied a pretty face he knew, and straightway he made
for it as well as he was able.
"Congratulations!" called Miss Hanford. "Oh, it was a glorious game! but
I'm so sorry you were hurt."
"It's nothing," murmured Dick gamely, though as he spoke a spasm of pain
shot through him.
There were not a few on the hospital list as a result of the
Haskell-Kentfield game and in view of that, and the great work that had
been done, practice was omitted for a few days. When it was resumed it
was light, for there were several of the best players, besides the
captain, to be considered, and good men were scarce.
On all sides among the various groups of cadets there was heard nothing
but praise for Dick's team. Only one little crowd had anything
unpleasant to say, and this was the faction headed by Porter.
"If Porter had played there wouldn't have been so many gains around left
end," said one of the rich lad's cronies.
"That's right," added Weston. "Porter was our mainstay before he got
put off by Hamilton's influence."
"Who says by Dick's influence?" demanded Paul Drew hotly.
"I do!"
"Then you don't know what you're talking about, and I advise you not to
repeat it," spoke Dick's chum grimly, and Weston slunk away.
But what little feeling there was died away in the memory of the
glorious game that had been played, and even some of the instructors
were enough interested in athletics to congratulate Dick and his chums.
"What's the next move?" asked Paul of his roommate, as they sat in the
precincts of the Sacred Pig one night, talking over matters of the
gridiron.
"Well, we ought to join the Military League, I think. We are practically
out of it through the refusal of Blue Hill to accept our challenge, and
I presume we'll have to join over again," was the opinion of Dutton.
"That's right!" cried Dick.
"Will they let us in?" asked George Hall.
"They'll have to," was what Manager Hatfield said. "I am going to have a
consultation with the coaches to-morrow, and we'll decide on what to do.
If we are admitted, as I have no doubt we will be, we'll challenge Blue
Hill Academy again."
A correspondence was at once begun with the necessary officers of the
league, and it was carried on to such advantage that inside of a week
Kentfield was formally notified of her election to the organization.
This was composed of several military academies, as I have said, and the
winning of the football championship carried with it the possession of a
gold loving cup.
Hard practice was the rule for the next few days, and then came a game
with Mooretown which Kentfield won. The next week she played a small
team, not in the league, and the week following came a contest with
Richmore, one of the tail-enders of the league. This resulted in a big
victory for Kentfield, and further advanced her prestige.
"Have you challenged Blue Hill yet?" asked Dick of the manager one day.
"I'm going to this week. I think we've won our spurs now. How is your
ankle, if we do play?"
"Fine as a fiddle. I've taken the bandage off. Oh, we'll play for our
lives when we meet those fellows!"
Blue Hill could now have no reason for refusing to meet Kentfield, and
though they offered no apology for their former sarcastic letter, they
accepted the challenge.
Dick was with Manager Hatfield when the answering missive was received.
"That's the stuff!" cried the young millionaire. "Now we'll practice
harder than ever."
Toots, the janitor, approached our hero, whistling "In the Prison Cell I
Sit." He saluted and seemed to want to say something.
"What is it?" asked Dick.
"I've just got word, Mr. Hamilton, that your dog Grit has been
arrested--or, that is, taken to the pound for going about without his
license tag on, which is against the law," said the janitor.
"Grit taken to the pound! Who did it?" cried Dick.
"Some fellow by the name of Duncaster," was the unexpected reply. "He
had a policeman take the dog in, and you have to pay ten dollars to get
him out. Half of it goes to that Duncaster man for causing the dog to be
taken in."
"Duncaster!" murmured Dick. "He's fighting us all along the line! I'm
going to town!" he called to a group of his chums who had gathered about
him.
"I'll go with you," and Paul hastened after his friend.