THE HIGH SCHOOL LEFT END
or Dick & Co. Grilling on the Football Gridiron
By H. Irving Hancock
CONTENTS
CHAPTERS
I. Sulking in the Football Camp
II. The Start of the Dodge Mystery
III. Dick Stumbles on Something
IV. The 'Soreheads' in Conclave
V. At the End of the Trail
VI. The Small Soul of a Gentleman
VII. The Football Notice Goes Up
VIII. Dick Fires Both Barrels
IX. Bayliss Gets Some Advice
X. Two Girls Turn the Laugh
XI. Does Football Teach Real Nerve
XII. Dick, Like Caesar, Refuses the Crown
XIII. Bert Dodge "Starts Something"
XIV. The "Strategy" of a School Traitor
XV. A "Fear" for the Plotter
XVI. "The Cattle Car for Yours"
XVII. Facing the "School Cut"
XVIII. "Prin." Gets in the Practice
XIX. Laura and Belle Have a Secret
XX. In the Line of Daring
XXI. The Price of Bravery
XXII. The Thanksgiving Day Game
XXIII. Sulker and Real Man
XXIV. Conclusion
CHAPTER I
SULKING IN THE FOOTBALL CAMP
"Football is all at sixes and sevens, this year," muttered Dave
Darrin disconsolately.
"I can tell you something more than that," added Tom Reade mysteriously.
"What?" asked Dick Prescott, looking at Reade with interest, for
it was unusual for Reade to employ that tone or air.
"Two members of the Athletics Committee have intimated to Coach
Morton that they'd rather see football passed by this year."
"_What_?" gasped Dick. He was staring hard now.
"Fact," nodded Tom. "At least, I believe it to be a fact."
"There must be something wrong with that news," put in Greg Holmes
anxiously.
"No; I think it's all straight enough," persisted Tom, shaking
his head to silence Holmes. "It came to me straight enough, though
I don't feel at liberty to tell you who told me."
All six members of Dick & Co. were present. The scene of the
meeting was Dick Prescott's own room at his home over the bookstore
kept by his parents. The hour was about nine o'clock in the evening.
It was Friday evening of the first week of the new school year.
The fellows had dropped in to talk over the coming football
season, because the week had been one of mysterious unrest in
the football squad at Gridley High School.
Just what the trouble was, where it lay or how it had started
was puzzling the whole High School student body. The squad was
not yet duly organized. This was never attempted until in the
second week of the school year. Yet it was always the rule that
the new seniors who, during their junior year, had made good records
on either the school eleven, or the second eleven, should form
the nucleus of the new pigskin squad. Added to these, were the
new juniors, formerly of the sophomore class, who had shown the
most general promise in athletics during the preceding school
year.
Gridley High School aimed to lead---to be away at the top---in
all school athletics. The "Gridley spirit," which would not accept
defeat in sports, was proverbial throughout the state.
And so, though the football squad was not yet formally organized
for training and practice, yet, up to the last few days, it had
been expected that a finer gridiron crowd than usual would present
itself for weeding, sifting and training by Coach Morton. The
latter was also one of the submasters of Gridley High School.
Since the school year had opened, however, undercurrent news had
been rife that there would be many "soreheads," and that this
would be an "off year" in Gridley football. Just where the trouble
lay, or what the "kick" was about, was a puzzle to most members
of the student body. It was an actual mystery to Dick & Co.
"What is all the undermining row about, anyway?" demanded Dick,
looking around at his chums. Dick was pacing the floor. Dave,
Tom and Greg Holmes were seated on the edge of the bed. Dan Dalzell
was lying back in the one armchair that the room boasted. Harry
Hazelton was standing by the door.
"I can't make a single thing out of it all," sighed Dan. "All
I can get at is that some of the seniors and some of our class,
the juniors, are talking as though they didn't care about playing
this year. I know that Coach Morton is worried. In fact, he's
downright disheartened."
"Surely," interjected Dick, "Mr. Morton must have an idea of what
is keeping some of the fellows back from the team?"
"If he does know, he isn't offering any information," returned
Harry Hazelton.
"I don't see any need for so much mystery," broke in Dave Darrin,
in disgust.
"Well, there is a mystery about it, anyway," contended Tom Reade.
"Then, before I'm much older, I'm going to know what that mystery
is," declared Dick.
"You're surely the one of our crowd who ought to be put on the
trail of the mystery," proposed Dalzell, with a laugh.
"Why?" challenged Prescott.
"Why, you're a reporter on 'The Blade.' Now mysteries are supposed
to constitute the especial field of reporters. So, see here,
fellows, I move that we appoint Dick Prescott a committee of
one for Dick & Co., his job being to find out what ails football---to
learn just what has made football sick this year."
"Hear! Hear!" cried some of the others.
"Is that your unanimous wish, fellows?" asked Dick, smiling.
"It is," the others agreed.
"Very good, then," sighed Prescott. "At no matter what personal
cost, I will find the answer for you."
This was all in a spirit of fun, as the chums understood. Yet
this lightly given promise was likely to involve Dick Prescott
in a good deal more than he had expected.
Readers of the preceding volumes in this series know Dick & Co.
so well that an introduction would be superfluous. Those to
whom the pages of "The High School Freshmen" are familiar know
how Dick & Co., chums from the Central Grammar School, entered
Gridley High School in the same year. How the boys toiled through
that first year as half-despised freshmen, and how they got some
small share in school athletics, even though freshmen were not
allowed to make the school athletic teams, has been told. The
pranks of the young freshmen are now "old tales." How Dick Prescott,
with the aid of his chums, put up a hoax that fairly seared the
Board of Education out of its purpose to forbid High School football
does not need telling again. Our former readers are also familiar
with the enmity displayed by Fred Ripley, son of a wealthy lawyer,
and the boomerang plot of Ripley to disgrace Prescott and brand
the latter as a High School thief. The same readers will recall
the part played in this plot by Tip Scammon, worthless son of
the honest old High School janitor, and how Tip's evil work resulted
in his going to the penitentiary for the better part of a year.
Readers of "_The High School Pitcher_" will recollect how, in
their sophomore year, Dick and Co. made their first real start
in High School athletics; how Dick became the star pitcher for
the nine, and how the other chums all found places on the nine,
either as star players or as "subs." In this volume also was
told the story of Fred's moral disasters under the tyranny of
Tip Scammon, Who threatened to "tell." How Dick & Co. were largely
entitled to the credit for bringing the Gridley High School nine
through a season's great record on the diamond was all told in
this second volume. Dick's good fortune in getting a position
as "space" reporter on "The Morning Blade" was also described,
and some of his adventures as reporter were told. The culmination
of Fred Ripley's scoundrelism, and his detection by his stern
old lawyer father, were narrated at length. Perhaps many of our
readers will remember, the unpopular principal of the High School,
Mr. Abner Cantwell; and the swimming episode, in which every High
School boy took part, afterwards meekly awaiting the impossible
expulsion of all the boys of the High School student body. Our
readers will recall that Mr. Cantwell had succeeded the former
principal, Dr. Thornton, whom the boys had almost idolized, and
that much of Mr. Cantwell's trouble was due to his ungovernable
temper.
During the first two years of High School life, Dick & Co. had
become increasingly popular. True, since these six chums were
all the sons of families in very moderate circumstances, Dick
& Co. had been disliked by some of the little groups of students
who came from wealthier families, and who believed that High School
life should be rather governed by a select few representing the
move "aristocratic" families of the little city.
Good-humored avoidance is excellent treatment to accord a snob,
and this, as far as possible, had been the plan of Dick & Co.
and of the other average boy at the High School.
"Let us see," broke in Dick, suddenly, "who are the soreheads
in the football line?"
"Well, Davis and Cassleigh, of the senior class, for two," replied
Dave Darrin.
"Dodge, Fremont and Bayliss, also first classmen," suggested Reade.
"Trenholm and Grayson, also seniors," brought in Greg Holmes.
"Then there are Porter, Drayne and Whitney," added Dave. "They're
of this year's Juniors."
"And Hudson and Paulson, also of our junior class," nodded Harry
Hazelton.
Dick Prescott had rapidly written down the names. Now he was
studying the list carefully.
"They're all good football men," sighed Dick. "All men whose
aid in the football squad is much needed."
"Drayne is the stuck-up chap, who uses the broad 'a' in his speech,
and carries his nose up at an angle of forty-five degrees," chuckled
Dan Dalzell. "He's the fellow I mortally offended by nicknaming
him 'Sewers,' to mimic his name of 'Drayne.'"
"That wouldn't be enough to keep him out of football," remarked
Dave quietly.
Dick looked up suddenly from his list.
"Fellows," he announced, "I've made one discovery."
"Out with it!" ordered Dan.
"Perhaps you can guess for yourselves what I have just found."
"We can't," admitted Hazelton meekly. "Please tell us, and save
us racking our brains."
"Well, it's curious," continued Dick slowly, "but every one of
these fellows---I believe you've given me all the names of the
'soreheads'"
"We have," affirmed Tom Reade.
"Well, I've just noted that every fellow on my sorehead roll of
honor belongs to one of our families of wealth in Gridley."
Dick paused to look around him, to see how the announcement impressed
his chums.
"Do you mean," hinted Hazelton, "that the soreheads are down on
football because they prefer automobiles?"
"No." Dick Prescott shook his head emphatically.
"By Jove, Dick, I believe you're right," suddenly exclaimed Dave
Darrin.
"So you see my point, old fellow?"
"I'm sure I do."
"I'm going to get examined for spectacles, then," sighed Dan plaintively.
"I can't see a thing."
"Why, you ninny," retorted Dave scornfully, "the football 'soreheads'
have been developing that classy feeling. They wear better clothes
than we do, and have more pocket money. Many of their fathers
don't work for a living. In other words, the fellows on Dick's
list belong to what they consider a privileged and aristocratic
set. They're the Gridley bluebloods---or think they are---and
they don't intend to play on any football eleven that is likely
to have Dick & Co. and a few other ordinary muckers on it."
"Muckers?" repeated Harry Hazelton flaring up.
"Cool down, dear chap, _do_!" urged Darrin, soothingly. "I don't
mean to imply that we really are muckers, but that's what some
of the classy group evidently consider us."
"Why, they say that Cassleigh's grandfather was an Italian immigrant,
who spelled his name Casselli," broke in Dan Dalzell.
"I believe it, son," nodded Dave. "Old Casselli was an immigrant
and an honest fellow. But he had the bad judgment to make some
money in the junk business, and sent his son to college. The
son, after the old immigrant died, took to spelling his name Cassleigh,
and the grandson is the prize snob of the town."
"And Bayliss's father was indicted by the grand jury, seven or
eight years ago, for bribery in connection with a trolley franchise,"
muttered Greg Holmes.
"Also currently reported to be true, my infant," nodded Dave sagely.
"But the witnesses against the elder Bayliss skipped, and the
district attorney never brought the case to trial. Case was quashed
a year later, and so now the Baylisses belong to the Distinguished
Order of Unconvicted Boodlers. That trolley stock jumped to six
times its par value right after the case against Bayliss was dropped,
you know."
"And, from what I've heard Mr. Pollock say at 'The Blade' office,"
Dick threw in, "the fathers of one or two of the other soreheads
got their money in devious ways."
"Why, there's Whitney's father," laughed Dan Dalzell. "Did you
ever hear how he got his start thirty years ago? Whitney's
brother-in-law got into financial difficulties, and transferred to
the elder Whitney property worth a hundred and twenty-five thousand
dollars. When the financial storm blew over the brother-in-law wanted
the property transferred back again, but the elder Whitney didn't
see it that way. The elder Whitney kept the transferred property,
and has since increased it to a half million or more."
"Oh, well," Dick interrupted, "let us admit that some of the fellows
on the sorehead list have never been in jail, and have never been
threatened with it. But I am sure that Dave has guessed my meaning
right. The soreheads, who number a dozen of rather valuable pigskin
men, are on strike just because some of us poorer fellows are
in it."
"What nonsense!" ejaculated Greg Holmes disgustedly. "Why, Purcell
isn't in any such crowd. Of course, Purcell's father isn't rich
beyond the dreams of avarice, but the Purcells, as far as blood
goes, are head and shoulders above the families of any of the
fellows on Dick's little list."
"If that's really what the disagreement is over," drawled Dan,
"I see an easy way out of it."
"Go ahead," nodded Dick.
"Let the 'soreheads' form the Sons of Tax-payers Eleven, and we'll
organize a Sons of poor but Honest Parents Eleven. Then we'll
play them the best two out of three games for the honor of representing
Gridley High School this year."
"Bright, but not practicable," objected Dick patiently. "The
trouble is that, if two such teams were formed and matched, neither
team, in the event of its victory, would have all of the best
gridiron stuff that the High School contains. No, no; what we
want, if possible, is some plan that will bring the whole student
body together, all differences forgotten and with the sole purpose
of getting up the best eleven that Gridley can possibly send
out against the world."
"Well, we are willing," remarked Darrin grimly.
"No! No, we're not," objected Hazelton fiercely. "If the snobs
don't want to play with any of us on the team, then we don't want
to play if _they_ come in."
"Gently, gently!" urged Dick. "Think of the honor of your school
before you tie your hands up with any of your own mean, small
pride. Our whole idea must be that Gridley High School is to
go on winning, as it has always done before. For myself, I had
hoped to be on the eleven this year. Yet, if my staying off the
list will put Gridley in the winning set, I'm willing to give
up my own ambitions. I'm going to put the honor of the school
first, and myself somewhere along about fourteenth."
"That's the only talk," approved Dave promptly. "Gridley must
have the winning football eleven."
"Well, the whole thing is a shame," blazed Reade indignantly.
"Oh, well, don't worry," drawled Dan Dalzell. "Keep cool, and
the whole thing will be fixed."
"Fixed?" insisted Reade. "How? How will it be fixed?"
"I don't know," Dan confessed, stifling a yawn behind his hand.
"Just leave the worry alone. Let Dick fix it."
"How can you fix it?" asked Reade, turning upon their leader.
"I don't know---yet," hesitated Prescott. But, like Dan, I believe
there's a way to be found."
"Going?" asked Hazelton. "Well, I'll trot along, too."
"Yes," nodded Greg. "It's a shame to stay here, hardening Dick's
mattress when he ought to be lying on it himself. It's time we
were all in bed. Good night, Dick, old fellow."
Four of the boys were speedily gone. Darrin, however, remained
behind, though he intended to stay only a few minutes. The two
were earnestly discussing the squally football "weather" when
the elder Prescott's voice sounded from the foot of the stairs.
"Dick?"
"Yes, sir," answered the boy, throwing open the door and springing
to the head of the stairs.
"Mr. Bradley, of 'The Blade,' wants to talk with you over the 'phone.
In a hurry, too, he says.
"I'll be right there, Dad. Coming, Dave?"
Darrin nodding, the two chums ran down the stairs to the bookstore.
Dick caught up the transmitter and answered.
"That you, Dick?" sounded the impatient voice of News Editor Bradley.
"This is Dick Prescott, Mr. Bradley."
"Then, for goodness' sake, can you hustle up here?"
"Of course I can."
"Ask your father if you can take up a late night job for me.
Then come on the jump. My men are all out, and everything is
at odds and ends in the way of news. I can't get a single man,
and I wish I had three at this minute."
"Dave Darrin is here. Can I bring him along?"
"Yes; he's not a reporter---but he may be able to help. Hustle."
"I'll be walking in through the doorway," laughed Dick, "by the
time you've hung your transmitter up. Good-bye." Ting-a-ling-ling!
"Now, Dave, get your father on the jump, and ask his leave to
go out on a late night story with me."
Fortunately there was no delay about this. Dave received the
permission from home promptly enough. The two youngsters set
out on a run.
What healthy boy of sixteen doesn't love to prowl late a night?
It is twenty-fold more fascinating when there's a mystery on
tap, and a newspaper behind all the curiosity.
The longing of these sturdy chums for mystery and adventure was
swiftly to be gratified---perhaps more so than they could have
wished!
News Editor Bradley was waiting for them in the doorway of "The
Blade" office, a frown on the journalistic face.