TREACHERY
Mr. Hamilton arrived at Kentfield the day before the game with
Mooretown. Dick welcomed his parent enthusiastically, and introduced him
to all his chums, with whom the millionaire was soon on friendly terms.
"You'll have a chance to see us play, dad!" cried the captain. "You'll
go Mooretown with us; won't you?"
"To see you beaten?" asked Mr. Hamilton quizzically.
"Not much! We'll wipe up the gridiron with them!" cried Ray Dutton.
"We've got to, if we want that loving cup," he added with a laugh, "and
Blue Hill, too."
"Well, I guess I'll come," assented Dick's father. "But I have some
business to transact first."
"I'm afraid you won't transact much of it," spoke Dick in a low voice.
"Mr. Duncaster is very obstinate."
"How are you going to Mooretown?" inquired Mr. Hamilton.
"By special train. Our manager has arranged for one. I did think of
autos, but the roads are pretty poor and then we want to take a big
crowd with us to 'root' for a win. So we'll go by train."
"Then I'll come along. Now tell me about this Mr. Duncaster," and Dick
proceeded to do so, detailing his own visit, and that of Mr. Larabee.
"Hum! A hard man to do business with. Still I've got to try, for it
means a lot to me," and Mr. Hamilton sighed. Dick noticed with regret
that his father's face was much more wrinkled than it had been, and the
gray hairs were more numerous.
"The strain is telling on him," mused the lad. "I wonder what would
happen if he lost all his money--and if I lost mine," for of late Dick
had transferred most of his funds to his father, to use in the electric
road deal. In fact most of the Hamilton fortune was now tied up in that
line.
"But I guess dad will make out," concluded our hero. "He has been in
tight places before, and has always pulled through."
Mr. Hamilton set off to see Enos Duncaster, and Dick made his father
promise to take dinner with him that night at the Sacred Pig where an
impromptu spread had been arranged in honor of the visit of the
millionaire. Major Webster Colonel Masterly, and several of the academy
faculty had promised to attend.
"It won't be much on the 'eat' line for you fellows and me," Dick had
warned them, "we can't break training until after we have wiped out the
disgrace of the Blue Hill defeat, and that won't be for two weeks. Then
we'll have a feast that is a feast."
"Good!" cried Innis Beeby for he was fond of feasts, and suffered under
the rigorous football regime.
Dick was waiting for his father's return from Mr. Duncaster's house that
evening, sitting in his room trying to study. He was not making much
headway for he was thinking of many things--of the game on the
morrow--of the one with Blue Hill, and of what success his father would
meet with. Paul Drew was out at a society meeting.
There came a knock on the door, a timid hesitating sort of a knock, and
Dick, wondering who it could be, called out:
"Come in!"
Sam Porter entered, first looking around the apartment to see that
Dick's roommate was not present.
"Are you busy, Hamilton?" he asked, and there was that in his voice that
caused Dick to wonder at him. There was a thickness and a sort of
leering familiarity that was unusual.
"No, I'm not busy. Come in and make yourself comfortable. There's an
easy chair," and Dick knocked a pile of books from one to make room for
his visitor.
"I want to ask a favor of you, Hamilton, and I want you to grant
it--understand?" and Porter looked sharply at the captain. "I want you
to promise."
"I can't promise, until I hear what it is," said the young millionaire
good-naturedly.
"Yes you can--if you want to--un'stand?" Sam Porter leaned forward.
"You want to grant me this favor--un'stand," went on Porter, "or you'll
be sorry. Sorry, see?"
"What is it?" asked Dick, trying not to show the disgust he felt.
"I want to play in that Mooretown game to-morrow--play full
game--un'stand? I don't want to sit on side lines like some poor Indian
wrapped up in a blanket--I want to go in from start an' wallop them
fellers. Un'stand? I want to play. You can put me in as well as not.
Will you? It's favor, Ham, an' if you don't do it, you'll be sorry!"
"Why?" asked Dick, for there was a vague threat in the tones of his
caller.
"Well, nev' min'. Will you let me play?"
Porter was not himself. Dick had never seen him thus, and he feared lest
some of the teachers discover his condition. He thought it best to
temporize with him.
"I'll see what I can do," he promised good-naturedly. "Come and see me
in the morning. You'd better go to bed now."
"Go to bed?" and Porter's voice rose. "Why, wha's matter me? Ain't I
a'right?"
"Yes, but if you are to play to-morrow you'll need a rest. See me in the
morning."
"All right. I'll go. But if I can't play whole game you be sorry, Ham.
You're good feller--you let me play--be sorry if you don't--tha's all,"
and Porter lurched from the room, while Dick shook his head sorrowfully.
Mr. Hamilton came up to Dick's room about an hour later. It needed but a
look at his face to see that his errand had proven a failure.
"Well?" asked Dick, but he knew what the answer would be.
"Mr. Duncaster wouldn't even talk to me when he learned what my object
was," said the millionaire wearily. "I guess we can't do anything with
him, Dick. But never mind," he added more brightly, "I can try another
scheme. They haven't got us beaten yet, Dick, my boy!"
Dick put his father up in an apartment in the Sacred Pig after the
little banquet. It was a gay affair in spite of the millionaire's
disappointment, and the boys voted him a brick.
Porter approached the captain the next morning. He did not seem at all
ashamed of his condition of yesterday.
"Well, Hamilton, am I to play?" was the somewhat sharp question.
"You'll have to take your chances with the other subs," was the young
captain's answer. "I can't make any changes in the Varsity now. I may
after the first half, if we find Mooretown easy enough."
"Yes, that's it!" sneered Porter. "You'll only put me in on the easy
games. I won't stand for it. Either I play the full game, or off comes
my suit for the season."
"You can please yourself about that," and Dick turned aside.
"You'll be sorry for this!" muttered Porter, as he walked away.
The last arrangements had been made, the team and substitutes surrounded
by the crowd of students who could not go to Mooretown, had been cheered
again and again, and Grit had been decorated as a mascot.
The crowd which was to accompany the players on the special train had
all gathered, and the march to the depot was begun. Mr. Hamilton was
with Dick.
"Humph! Our special hasn't pulled in yet," observed Manager Hatfield
when the station was reached, and there were no cars in waiting "That's
funny. The agent said it would be surely here ready for us. I'll ask him
about it."
Dick was standing near the manager when he questioned the station
master. That official seemed greatly surprised at the crowd of players
and spectators.
"Your special train?" he exclaimed. "Why you countermanded the order for
it. The game was off, I understood, so I sent the engine and cars
back."
"Sent them back!" cried Dick. "How was that?'
"Why, I had them all here, and the engineer had steam up, waiting for
you. About an hour ago one of your students came down here and said
Mooretown had cancelled the game, and that you weren't going to play.
So, as I didn't want the special standing here in the way of the regular
trains, I sent it back to the yard."
"Can we get it again?" asked Hatfield, wondering what had happened.
"Not inside of several hours."
"What sort of a student told you we didn't want it?" asked Dick,
excitedly.
"A tall lad, rather stout, and with quite a good color--you know--sort
of beefy."
"Porter!" whispered Dick, involuntarily, and several heard him.
"The special has been sent back, we can't get a train in several hours,
and we're due at Mooretown at two o'clock," spoke the manager. "They'll
claim the game by forfeit if we don't show up, and then----"
"Good-bye to our chances for the championship," put in Beeby gloomily.
"There's been treachery here," murmured Dick, as he gazed at the blank
faces of his companions. "Treachery! This is what Sam Porter meant when
he said I'd be sorry."