THE "STRATEGY" OF A SCHOOL TRAITOR
"Rah! rah! _Gri-i-idley_!"
Again and again the whole of the rousing, inspiring High School
yell smote the air.
It was but a little after noon on Saturday.
It seemed as though two thirds of the school, including most of
the girls, had come down to the railway station to see the High
School eleven off on its way to Tottenville. That city was some
thirty miles away from Gridley, but there was a noon express train
that went through in forty minutes.
Coach Morton and Captain Wadleigh had rounded up the whole of
the school team. All of the subs were there. The coach and members
of the team were at no expense in the matter, since their expenses
were to be paid out of the gate receipts of the home eleven.
To many of the boys and girls of Gridley High School, however,
the affair bore a different look. The round trip by rail would
cost each of these more than a dollar, with another fifty cents
to pay for a seat on the grand stand at Tottenville.
Hence, despite the fine representation of High School young folks
at the railway station, not all of them were so fortunate as to
look forward to going to the game.
In addition to those of the young people who could go, there were
more than three hundred grown-ups who had bought tickets. The
railroad company, having been notified by the local agent, had
added a second section to the noon express.
And now they waited, enthusiasm finding vent in volleys of cheers
and the school war-whoop.
Dick Prescott and his chums stood at one end of the platform. Nor
were they alone. Many admirers had gathered about them. Laura
Bentley and Belle Meade, who were going with the rest to Tottenville,
were chatting with Dick and Dave. Each of the girls carried the
Gridley High School colors to wave during the expected triumphs of
the afternoon.
"I'm glad you're playing today," Laura almost whispered to young
Prescott.
"Why?" smiled Dick
"Why, I believe you're one of those fortunate people who always
carry their mascot with them," rejoined Miss Bentley earnestly.
"With you there, Dick, I feel absolutely certain that even Tottenville
must go down in the dust. Gridley will bring back the score---and
not a tied score, either."
"I certainly hope I am as big a mascot, or possess as big a mascot
as you seem to believe," laughed young Prescott.
"You and Dave are each other's mascots," declared Belle Meade,
with a laugh. "I remember that last year when you were both on
the baseball nine Gridley never lost a game in which you and Dave
both played."
"Nor did the nine lose any other game," returned Dick, "though
there were some games when Dave and I weren't on the batting list.
The nine didn't lose a game last season, Miss Belle, and had
only one tied score."
"Anyway," declared Laura, with great conviction, "it all comes
back to this---that Gridley can't lose today because both Prescott
and Darrin are to play."
"And I believe, young ladies, that you're both much nearer to
the truth than you have any idea of. In today's game a great
deal does depend on Prescott and Darrin."
It was Captain "Hen" Wadleigh, who, passing to the rear of the
group, had overheard Laura's remark, and had made this addition
to her prophecies.
"Here comes the train!" yelled one youth, who was fortunate enough
to have a ticket for the day.
Soon after the sound of the whistle had been heard the express
rolled in. But this was the first section of the regular train.
By some effort the football crowd was kept off the train. Soon
after the second section of the train was sighted as it rolled
toward the station.
"Team assemble!" roared Captain Wadleigh.
There was a rush of husky, mop-headed youths in his direction.
Just then a hand rested on Dick's arm.
"Let me speak with you, just a moment Prescott."
As Dick turned he found himself looking into the face of Hemingway,
plan clothes man to Chief Coy of the Police department.
"I'm awful sorry, lad, but-----" began Hemingway slowly, in a
tone of the most genuine regret.
Dick's face blanched. He scented bad news instantly, though he
could not imagine what it was.
"Anyone sick---any accident at home?" asked the young left end.
"Team aboard, first day coach behind the smoker!" roared Captain
Wadleigh, and the fellows made a rush.
"The truth is," confessed Hemingway, "I've a war-----"
Dick saw light in an instant.
"Oh, that wretched Dodge? He has-----"
"Sworn out a warrant for your arrest," nodded Hemingway.
Laura and Belle did not hear or see this. They were hurrying
rearward along the train.
Few of the football fellows saw the trouble, for they were busy
boarding the car named by Captain Wadleigh.
Dave Darrin was the only one to pay urgent heed.
"See here, Hemingway," began Dave, "Dick will come back---you
know that. He's desperately needed today. Won't it do just as
well-----"
"No," broke in the plain-clothes man, reluctantly. "I'd have
done that if possible, but Dodge's father put the warrant in my
hand and insisted."
"He?" echoed Darrin, bitterly. "The very man that Dick and I
rescued when he was out of his head and in the clutches of scoundrels
He? Oh, this is infamous---or crazy!"
"I know it is," nodded Officer Hemingway sympathetically. "But
what am I to do when-----"
"Hustle aboard, there, you Prescott and Darrin!" roared Captain
Wadleigh's voice from an open window.
"You hear, Hemingway?" urged Dave.
"Yes; but I can't help it," sighed the policeman.
"We're not going---can't-----" fluttered Darrin. His voice was
low, but it reached the captain of the eleven.
"What's that?" roared Wadleigh, making a dash for the door of
the car. "Keep your seats, you other fellows. I-----"
"You go, Dave---you must!" commanded Dick. "Hurry! The train
is starting. Hustle! Play for both of us."
Dick gave his chum a push that was compelling. Dave yielded,
boarding the step as the end of the car went by him.
"What-----" began Wadleigh, breathlessly.
"I'll explain," panted Darrin angrily.
The train was now in full motion.
"Hey, dere! Stop dot train, quick! Me! I am not off board, yet!"
It was Herr Schimmelpodt, hot, perspiring and gasping, who now
raced upon the platform. For one of his weight, combined with
his lack of nimbleness, it was hazardous to attempt to board the
moving train.
Yet Herr Schimmelpodt made a wild dash for the train. He would
have been mangled or killed, had not Officer Hemingway caught
the anxious German and pulled him back.
"Hey, you! Vot for you do dot?" screamed Herr Schimmelpodt.
"Hey? Answer me dot vun, dumm-gesicht!" (Foolish-faced one.)
"I did it to save you from going under the wheels," retorted Officer
Hemingway dryly.
"Und now I don't go me by dot game today!" groaned Herr Schimmelpodt.
"Me! I dream apout dot game all der veek, und now I don't see
me by it."
"But, man-----"
"Hal's maul." (Literally' "Shut your mouth!")
"Me! Und I Couldn't lose dot game for ein dollar!" glared the
prosperous German.
He stared after the departed second section, from the open windows
of which fluttered or wildly waved many a banner; for few of the
Gridley crowd had yet discovered that one of the most prized members
of the team had been left behind.
Herr Schimmelpodt it was, who, a wealthy retired contractor, had
found his second youth in his enthusiasm over the High School
baseball nine the season before.
Though thrifty enough in most matters, the German had become a
liberal contributor to the High School athletic fund, to the great
dismay of his good wife, who feared that his new outdoor fads
would yet land them both in the poorhouse.
"Vot you doing here, Bresgott?" demanded Herr Schimmelpodt, turning
upon the young prisoner. "Vy you ain't by dot elefen? How dey going
to vin bis you are behint left?"
"You have company in your misery, sir," said Officer Hemingway.
"I'm awfully sorry to say that Dick Prescott can't see today's
game, either. It's a whopping shame, but sometimes the law is
powerless to do right."
"What foolishness are you talking mit, vonce alretty?" demanded
Herr Schimmelpodt, looking bewildered.
"I've just been arrested, on a false charge of assault," Dick
stated quietly.
"You? Und you don't blay by der game yet' By der beard of Charlemagne,"
howled Herr Schimmelpodt excitedly, "ve see apoud dot!"
Digging down into a trouser's pocket this enthusiastic old High
School "rooter" brought up a roll of bills almost as large around
as a loaf of bread.