READY FOR BLUE HILL
Dick was half wrathful over the action of Mr. Duncaster, and half
because of the action of some cadet who must have enticed Grit to town,
for a few students, admiring the bulldog had, in times past, often led
him off with them. Nor was Grit unwilling to go, for he loved action,
and by reason of his lessons and his football practice his master had
little time to take him out.
"What are you going to do?" asked Paul, as his chum swung around toward
the stable.
"I'm going to find out who took my dog to town, and then I'm going after
him," was the answer. "He had nerve, who ever he was."
"Do you think Duncaster did it? Because he knew it was your animal?"
"He may have done so, but I doubt it. He's just naturally mean and
cranky, and when he found Grit wandering about the street he probably
notified a dog-catcher. I didn't think they were so strict when cool
weather set in. Poor Grit! In a pound with a lot of curs! His feelings
will be hurt."
In answer to Dick's inquiries one of the stable men stated that Cadet
Porter had come and gotten Grit, leading him off by a leash attached to
his collar.
"Did he say I said for him to take Grit?" asked the young millionaire.
"No, sir, I can't say as how he did. But he's been real friendly with
the dog, Mr. Porter has, and Grit knows him. Mr. Porter and Mr. Weston
went off together with him. I hope you don't blame me, Mr. Hamilton,"
and the man seemed a bit alarmed.
"No, it wasn't your fault. But, after this, please don't let any one
take Grit without my permission. First thing I know he'll be stolen, and
then Uncle Ezra will be as happy as a lark."
On the way to town Dick and Paul met Porter and Weston returning. The
faces of both were flushed, and they were smoking cigarettes. Porter
seemed ill at ease as he encountered Dick, and the latter resolving to
settle the matter once and for all said:
"What right had you to take my dog, Porter?"
"I'm mighty sorry, Ham," was the contrite answer, and for a change
Porter was not blustering and overbearing as he usually was. "You see I
took him in, as I've done once before, and you didn't mind, but----"
"Yes, but this time I _do_ mind!" exclaimed Dick sharply. "He got away
from you, didn't he?"
"Yes, I tied him to the leg of the billiard table, while I shot a match
with Weston. Beat him, too, and I must have felt so jolly over it that I
forgot about Grit. When I went to look for him he was gone--he'd slipped
out of his collar. I guess he was lonesome for you. He got home all
right, I hope."
"No, he didn't!" replied Dick in no gracious tones.
"He didn't?" Porter was manifestly surprised.
"He's in the pound, and I have to pay ten dollars to get him out."
"Whew! That's tough luck! I'm mighty sorry about it. If I wasn't so
counfoundedly short of funds now I'd give you the money for the fine
right away. As it is I'll owe it to you."
"No, you won't!" cried our hero sharply. "I'll pay it myself, but don't
take Grit away again--please." He added the last as he happened to
remember that he was captain of the football team, and that Weston,
Porter's crony, was a member of the eleven, and that Porter might also
play later. It would not do to be on bad terms with them, for the sake
of the team.
"Oh, well, you needn't be stiff about it," murmured Porter. "I didn't
mean any harm. How did I know the dog would get away."
"You didn't, I presume," agreed Dick, a little mollified. "But don't do
it again. Come on, Paul."
"You cad!" muttered Porter, as Dick swung around. "I'm beginning to
hate you! I'll get even, some day too. You put me off the team!"
"Oh, I wouldn't feel that way," suggested Weston, who was not a half-bad
chap. "You may get a chance yet."
"Not after this blamed dog incident. Why didn't you have an eye on the
brute?"
"Why should I? It was your affair."
"Oh, well, if that's the way you feel about it, don't come with me
again!" snapped Porter, who was in ill humor.
The pound of the town was in a stable back of one of the police
stations, and there Dick found Grit chained up with several other dogs
of much lower degree.
"Hello, old boy!" greeted the lad, and Grit nearly broke the chain to
leap upon his master.
"Be careful," warned the poundkeeper. "He's got an ugly temper."
"Not when he's treated right," was the answer. "I'll take him along.
Here's his collar," for Porter had handed it over before parting from
Dick. "I'll take him home. To whom do I pay the ten dollars?"
"To me. Half goes to the town and the other half to the man who caused
the dog to be taken in. Rumcaster is his name, or something like that.
He's been here several times since the dog was brought in, asking if the
fine was paid. He wants his share, Mr. Rumcaster does."
"Duncaster is my name! Duncaster!" exclaimed a rasping voice, and the
man who had been so unpleasant to Dick made his appearance. "And so the
dog's owner is here, is he? I guess this will be a lesson to him.
Where's my five dollars?"
"Here!" exclaimed Dick suddenly stepping forward.
"Ah, ha! So it's that Hamilton soldier fellow!" exploded Enos Duncaster,
as he saw our hero. "It was your dog; eh? You should know better than to
let unmuzzled and unlicensed dogs run loose in the streets. But it's
what might be expected of a young man who goes to school to learn a
murdering trade. Bah! I'm glad it _was_ your dog!"
"The dog is licensed, and was running loose because the cadet who took
him without my permission did not take care of him," answered Dick
quietly.
"Hum! I can't help that young man! The law is the law and I'm entitled
to my five dollars. It will keep me in groceries for a week. I don't eat
much!" and the old man chuckled grimly as he pocketed the bill, and
tottered off on his cane.
"Come on Grit, old boy!" called Dick, as he paid over the other five
dollars, and led the now rejoicing animal away.
The young millionaire tried not to feel any resentment against Porter,
but it was hard work. Not so much on account of the ten dollars, as
because of what might have happened to Grit. On his part Porter was
cooler than ever toward Dick, but it did not so much matter as our hero
had learned all he could about the financial operations of the rich
lad's father,--and since he knew who held the large number of shares of
electric stock.
"Not that it's doing dad much good to know," mused the young
millionaire, "for Duncaster will be more against me than ever now, I'm
afraid. He won't even listen to me."
Fortunately the necessity for hard work on the gridiron gave Dick so
much to think about that he did not have much time to worry over this
matter, though he made up his mind to aid his father whenever
opportunity presented.
Hard practice was called for, in preparation for the Blue Hill game, and
the young captain and the coaches were glad to see the snappy playing,
and the aggressive spirit manifested.
"I think we can defeat them, after what we did to Haskell," said Dick.
"I do also," agreed Mr. Martin, and Mr. Spencer was no less positive.
It was three days before the game, and the boys were "on edge" and
fit to make the battle of their lives. That night Dick was paying a
visit in the rooms of Innis Beeby, when George Hall came in.
"What's the matter up in your bungalow?" asked Jim Watkins, coming in
during a deep discussion of a new wing shift play.
"Nothing--why?" asked Dick quickly.
"I thought you might be sick. I just saw Dr. Fenwick going in there,"
was the answer. "But you seem healthy enough."
"Dr. Fenwick--going to our room!" cried Dick, starting up. "It must be
Paul. He wasn't feeling well this evening, and wouldn't come out with
me. I'll go see!" and he hastened away.