Temptation
When the football practice was over and the boys were on their
way home, Garry Grayson's friends were in a ferment of wonder and
excitement.
"Now what do you know about that!" exclaimed Rooster. "Changing signals
just before the game with Wimbledon!"
"Committing suicide, if you ask me," grumbled Nick Danter.
"Came like a thunder clap," declared Bill. "Knocked me all of a heap. I
have to pinch myself to find out whether I'm dreaming."
"You don't seem especially disturbed about it, Garry," said Ted, giving
the quarterback a poke in the ribs.
"I wasn't so surprised as the rest of you because Mr. Phillips had
spoken to me before about it," replied Garry. "But I'm sure upset, just
the same. It is going to make our work mighty hard."
"You knew, and you wouldn't tell us!" exclaimed Nick. "A clam hasn't
anything on you!"
"I wanted to badly enough, but Mr. Phillips told me to keep it under my
hat until he was ready to spring it," replied Garry.
"But what on earth is the reason?" asked Rooster Long perplexedly.
"There can be only one reason," answered Garry, "and that is that
he thinks Wimbledon has our signals or may get them. So he wants to
double-cross them."
"Get our signals?" cried Bill, in astonishment. "Have they been sending
any of their scouts around?"
"I don't think so," replied Garry. "At least, I haven't noticed any
snooping going on. No, if Wimbledon's got them, it's because somebody
in Lenox, somebody familiar with the signals, has given or sold them to
her."
"What?" exclaimed Nick, in horror. "Do you mean to say there's any one
connected with Lenox High who would stoop to such a dirty trick as
that? Why, if they did, they ought--they ought to be--" Nick stuttered
and hesitated, unable to think of any punishment he considered severe
enough.
"Sure!" agreed Garry. "And that, whatever it is, would be letting them
off easy. I'll bet my hat, though, that something like that is the
explanation. Mr. Phillips got next to it in some way, though I don't
know how, and he's trying to balk the scheme."
"I'll bet Sandy Podder and Lent Stewart are at the bottom of it!"
exclaimed Bill Sherwood.
"I wouldn't put it past them," said Rooster. "But they don't know the
signals well enough to give them away. They haven't played football
since they've been at Lenox High."
"No, but some of their pals have," put in Ted. "Could it be that--" He
stopped as though reluctant to voice his thought.
"I know what name you were going to say," Bill remarked. "Aleck
Anderson. He's as sore as a boil, I know; but I hate to think he'd do a
thing like that."
"So would I," said Garry. "But he's been with Sandy and Lent an awful
lot of late. And you remember, Bill, that when Frank told us of the
talk he overheard between Sandy and Lent he said they mentioned the
names of Aleck and of Ed Bixby."
"Bixby, too," mused Ted. "Is he tarred with the same brush?"
"Well, we don't know," replied Garry. "And since we don't, perhaps it's
fairer to leave their names out of it until we have something definite.
Anyway, it doesn't matter. We've put a spoke in their wheel by changing
the signals. The old ones aren't worth a rap now, and if Wimbledon
relies on them, she's bound to get stung. Say, wouldn't it be a joke
if Wimbledon decided to count on them?" he added with a chuckle. "Can't
you see those fellows running around like chickens with their heads cut
off, wondering what had gone wrong with the dope?"
The picture conjured up was an amusing one and provoked the laughter of
the boys. But the laughter would have been much less hearty had they
been able to see who were in the Stewarts' garage at that moment and
hear what was going on.
Sandy and Lent had entered it early that afternoon, and for an hour or
so had been walking the floor and biting their nails with impatience.
"Do you think they'll put it over?" asked Sandy nervously.
"I think likely," replied Lent reassuringly. "I think the chances are
ten to one. Still, you never can tell. The janitor might have gone to
that closet at any time to get some of his things. I hate to think what
would happen to Aleck and Bixby if they were discovered there while the
teams were in the gymnasium. What the players would do to them would be
a plenty."
A little later three taps came on the door. It was the long awaited
signal, and Sandy unlocked the door eagerly. Aleck and Bixby came in
breathlessly.
"Well, did you get them?" asked Sandy, with feverish anxiety, as he
locked the door again and turned toward them.
"Surest thing you know!" replied Aleck, as he took a notebook from his
breast pocket and displayed pages scrawled over with figures.
"Like taking candy from a baby!" gloated Bixby. "Old Phillips never
thought of looking in the closets before he began his talk. Gee, I was
sweating, though, for fear he would! If he had--phew!"
Sandy looked exultingly at the figures.
"Sure they're right?" he asked.
"Dead sure," replied Aleck. "We didn't have any trouble in hearing all
he said. And he went over them again and again to make sure the fellows
understood. You can gamble on it that they're correct."
"Bully!" exclaimed Sandy. "Now we're all set. This time Garry Grayson
will get all that's coming to him! Now the next thing to do is to see
Bill Sykes."
"Who's going to do it?" asked Aleck.
"Why, you'd be the best one for that," replied Sandy. "You know him and
we don't."
"Then if he doesn't fall for it, I'd be left holding the bag," objected
Aleck. "If he chose to blab, the whole blame would be laid on me. Not
on your life! We're all in this together, and you fellows will have
to come along. I'll introduce him to you, and you, Sandy, can do
most of the talking. It's your scheme, and besides you can talk more
convincingly than I can," he added.
Sandy fell for the flattery and swelled up like a pouter pigeon.
"All right," he agreed. "I'll get my car, and we'll go over to
Wimbledon to-morrow afternoon. You 'phone him in the meantime, Aleck,
and make an appointment for him to meet us at the hotel. We'll give him
a swell supper and then we'll take him for a ride. Then we'll spring
the thing on him and try to put it over."
The next afternoon the four conspirators rode over to Wimbledon in
Sandy's sporty car and put up at the hotel. They had to wait awhile
for their expected guest, who arrived a little later, and somewhat
breathlessly apologized for being late, explaining that he had had some
work to do at the school. As they already knew from Aleck Anderson that
he aided the janitor at times, they understood.
Bill Sykes was a muscular, stocky individual, a good football player
and captain of the eleven. That money was scarce with him, however, was
evident from his worn and shabby coat and the trousers that were frayed
at the bottom. It was plain that he had hard work to get along.
Aleck greeted him cordially.
"Hello, Bill!" he said, as they shook hands. "How's tricks?"
"Oh, so-so," answered Bill. "Plenty of hard work and little to show for
it."
"A little easy work and a good deal to show for it would be better,
would it?" laughed Aleck. "Well, perhaps we can put you in the way of
it. I want you to meet my friends," and he introduced his companions.
Sandy was especially effusive. No business, though, till after supper,
had been the decision, so he said:
"Let's go in and get a swell feed and take a little ride afterward."
The supper was an especially good one, and in paying for it Sandy
ostentatiously displayed a considerable roll of bills. This, together
with the natty car, produced an impression on Bill Sykes, who seldom
saw money in quantity.
Following the meal they rode out on the country roads, and when they
came to a secluded, quiet spot Sandy drew the car off the side of the
road and stopped.
"Like to make a little coin, Bill?" he asked without further preamble.
"Who wouldn't!" answered Bill Sykes.
"That's right," returned Sandy. "It's what we're all after. Well, I
think I can show you how to do it and at the same time do your school
a good turn."
"Just what do you mean?" asked Sykes, puzzled.
"It's this way," explained Sandy. "You want to see Wimbledon lick
Lenox, don't you?"
"Of course I do," replied Bill.
"So do I," Sandy spat out venomously. "Lick the tar out of her!"
"It won't be any cinch though," observed Bill.
"It would be a cinch though, wouldn't it, if you knew the Lenox
signals?"