"LINE UP!"
Paul, looked at Dick Hamilton with something a little short of
open-mouthed wonder. He could not understand him. He realized the vital
necessity of the Hamilton forces getting control of the trolley stock
that Mr. Duncaster held. Now, when the opportunity offered, Dick calmly
turned it down.
"Do you know what you're saying, Dick?" asked his roommate. "This is the
only chance you'll have--perhaps to save your father's fortune."
"I know it."
"And you're not going?"
"What? And desert the team in the face of the biggest game of the year?
I guess not. Dad wouldn't want me to."
"Some one can play in your place--perhaps for half the game. You could
go out in an auto and back in a short time."
"Of course I might, but I'm not going to," and the young millionaire,
who might not be a lad of wealth much longer, calmly looked to see if
his canvas jacket needed any last attention. "If I went out there it
would take some time to arrange about the transfer of the stock, and I
never could get back in season to play the game. Besides I want to start
off with the boys from the first kick against Blue Hill."
"I don't blame you--but--it's a big price to pay."
"I know it, but it's worth all it will cost. Why I couldn't leave now,
practically in the face of the enemy. I may not be a whole lot to the
team, and probably there are fellows on the scrub who can play
quarter-back as well, if not better, than I can. But I've trained with
the boys all season. I'm their captain, however unworthy, and I've got
to stick by 'em. It would be treason to go now. I've got to stick."
"But can't you do something? Can't you send Duncaster some word? He says
he leaves to-night. Telegraph him that you'll see him directly after the
game. Explain how things stand, and maybe he'll make allowances."
"I will," decided Dick, "but I haven't much hope. He is very much set
against football, and he has no especial love for me. I can't understand
why he should give in about the stock. Perhaps he feels that he must
close up some of his business matters if he is going away. Then, too,
dad's offer may be better than the one Porter made him. I can't
understand it, but I'll take a chance and send him a wire, asking him to
meet me after the game."
"Have you got the cash to pay for the stock?" asked Paul.
"Oh, I can give him a check to bind the bargain, and dad can settle with
him later. I haven't as much in the bank as I had, for I let dad invest
it in the electric line."
"Then you stand to lose too, if you don't get Duncaster's stock."
"Yes, but what of it? If we win this game, and Kentfield is the champion
of the league, I'd be willing to lose almost all I had. I fancy dad left
an offer with Mr. Duncaster, better than his first one, of an advance of
ten per cent., and instructed the crabbed old chap to let him know when
he was ready to accept it. Instead, he sends me word, and I--well, I'm
not going--that's all. That is not until after the game. It's what dad
would want me to do--he'll understand," said Dick softly.
"Well, you've got nerve--that's all I've got to say," complimented Paul
admiringly.
Dick wrote his telegram, and he took the precaution to give Toots the
money to prepay it.
"Duncaster might refuse it, if it went collect," he remarked with a grim
smile. "I can't take any chances. Then, Toots, arrange to have a speedy
taxicab waiting for me at the end of the game. I'll make a bee-line for
Hardvale as soon as the last whistle blows," he explained to Paul. "Want
to come along?"
"Sure."
It was almost time to go out on the gridiron now. Dick gave one brief
and half-regretful thought to the opportunity he might be missing. Then
he murmured:
"Well, the game--from now on!"
He had no idea of wiring his father the news, but he felt that after all
it would be better to explain it personally.
"If dad was only where he could make a jump to Hardvale he could clinch
the deal," he mused, "but it's impossible."
"Hark! What's that?" cried Paul as they were about to leave their room.
It was the sound of a swelling, boisterous cry--a joyful shout--a
challenge.
"The Blue team has arrived!" exclaimed Dick. "Come on! Now for the
battle!"
Already there was quite a crowd in the grandstands, and more people were
arriving every minute. The ticket takers had their hands full, and the
ushers were as busy as bees. For rumors of the fierce game that was
likely to be played had prevailed for the last two weeks, and there was
every indication of a record-breaking crowd.
"Our treasury will be filled!" cried the manager of Kentfield with
exultation. "This is a great day for us--even if we don't win."
"We're going to!" declared Dick with conviction.
As Dick turned around he saw a tall, well-formed young man approaching
him. Something about the face seemed familiar, and, as the newcomer
smiled, Dick remembered.
"Hello, Larry Dexter!" he exclaimed. "Where in the world did you blow
from? Sent to report the game?"
"No, but I wish I was. I'm up here on a mystery case and, as I had a
little time to spare I thought I'd see you fellows win. I heard about
the game. Go in and beat!"
"Thanks! We're going to try. Say, but I am glad to see you, Larry. Come
on over here and I'll see that you get a good seat. Or would you rather
be on the side lines?"
"On the side lines I think." And Dick soon arranged so that his reporter
friend would have a good place.
"See you later," he called as he went back on the field.
"I'm afraid not," answered Larry. "I'll have to get away in a hurry.
I've got an appointment, but I'll stay long enough to see you pile up a
good score," and though Dick looked for his friend after the game, he
did not see him.
"Who is that?" asked Paul, as Dick joined him.
"That's Larry Dexter. One of the best reporters in New York. I met him
when I was there, right after I got my fortune. He's a fine chap. But
it's about time for the Blue Hill crowd to arrive."
Those of you who have read my Larry Dexter Series need no introduction
to the hero of those books. Larry was a farm boy, who had an ambition to
become a reporter on a big New York paper. In the book "From Office Boy
to Reporter," I told how he did this, and in the other books of the
series I related some of his strange adventures.
The Blue Hill cadets had come on a special train, and the team drove up
from the station in a large carry-all that had been provided for them by
Dick and his chums. A few days before the game the plans had been
changed so as to bring the contest to Kentfield instead of having it on
the Blue Hill gridiron.
"Well, you're on time, I see," said our hero, as he shook hands with
Captain Haskell of Blue Hill. Haskell had been newly elected, to take
the place of a friend who had unexpectedly been called away.
"Yes, and we're got our winning suits on."
"Well, we'll see about that," responded Dick with a quiet smile. "Now if
you'll step over here we can arrange the details, and then both sides
can have some practice."
"Sure," and a little later with the two coaches representing Kentfield,
and two from Blue Hill, the captains conferred.
"I presume Blake will be all right for umpire," said Mr. Norton one of
the visiting coaches.
"You mean George Blake--who umpired in our last game?" asked Mr. Spencer
quickly.
"That's the one."
"We'd prefer some one else," said Mr. Spencer quietly, before Dick could
interpose the objection that was on his lips.
"You don't like him? Why?" asked Captain Haskell quickly, with some
wrath.
"Because he doesn't see all that goes on in the line," was the calm
answer of the Princeton coach. "I don't believe it is necessary to say
more."
"Well, if I----"
"It's all right," broke in Coach Norton for Blue Hill. "If you object to
him, we'll take some one else. How will Jacob Small do?"
"Of Lehigh?"
"Yes."
"We'll accept him gladly," assented Mr. Spencer. "Now as to the other
officials," and they were quickly settled upon.
"Heads or tails?" asked Dick, as he prepared to spin the coin for choice
of goals.
"Um--heads," spoke Captain Haskell quickly, as the quarter went spinning
into the air.
"Heads it is," announced Dick without a tremor in his voice. The first
little indication of fate had gone against him, but it could not be
helped. He hoped to get the choice, as there was no wind blowing, and
naturally no advantage in goals, so that the winner of the toss could
elect to have the other side kick off if he liked. Dick had planned to
let Blue Hill kick if he had won the say of the spinning coin, but it
was not to be. Which would Haskell select?
There was a moment's hesitation as the rival captain tested the wind
with a moistened, up-lifted finger. Then he announced his choice.
"We'll take the north goal. You fellows can kick off!"
"All right," spoke Dick and he tried not to show the little
disappointment in his voice. "Then as it's all settled we can get to
practice."
Dick had hoped to get possession of the ball immediately after the kick
off and by a series of whirlwind rushes demoralize his opponents. Now he
would have to change his plans.
"Well, we'll see how we can hold them," he said to Paul, as they went
over to their side of the field to run through some plays.
There was fast, snappy, preliminary work. Dick paused once or twice to
observe his opponents.
"No sign of them going stale," he reflected.
The hour for play had come. The officials had settled all the details.
The new ball had been blown up, and the cover laced tightly. Carrying it
in his hand the referee advanced to the centre of the field and handed
it to Dick.
"Are you ready?" the official asked.
The young millionaire nodded.
"Line up!" called the referee as Dick handed the ball to Innis Beeby to
kick off.