The Grammar School Boys of Gridley | Page 9

then be fixed at two hundred dollars; Driggs's at four
hundred dollars. Are you prepared to furnish bail?"
"I will furnish the cash for both of us," announced Abner Dexter,

drawing a roll of banknotes from a pocket.
Mrs. Dexter and her lawyer filed out while this matter was being
arranged with the clerk of the court. Dick and his friends, at a sign from
the court, left the room as soon as they had received their fees as
witnesses.
"So he pays the money, Dexter does, and walks out?" grunted Dan
Dalzell.
"Oh, no," Dick answered. "Dexter and his friend have to be tried over
again in a higher court. That money is just their forfeit in case they
don't show up for trial."
"They won't," predicted Greg.
"I don't know," murmured Dick. "Six hundred dollars would be a lot of
money to lose."
By hastening, the Grammar School boys were back in school for the
last hour of the session.
CHAPTER III
FOOTBALL--WITHOUT RULES
School was out for the day. Three quarters of the boys belonging to the
four upper grades made a bee line for a field about a block away. The
magnet was a football that Dave Darrin proudly carried tucked under
his left arm.
"I wanter play!"
"Let me try just one good kick with it, Dave!"
"Take a stroll," advised Darrin laconically. "How can I blow up the ball
and talk to you fellows, too?"
"Hurry up, then. We want to give the ball a fierce old kick."

"No kids in this," announced Dave, rather loftily. "Only fellows in the
eighth and seventh grades. Fellows in the grades below the seventh are
only kids and would get hurt."
"Oh, say!"
"That isn't fair!"
The protests were many and vigorous from sixth and fifth-grade boys,
but Darrin, ignoring them all, went placidly on inflating the pigskin. At
last the task was completed.
"Hurrah! Now, Dave, give it a boost and let us all have some fun!"
cried the boys. But Darrin coolly tucked the ball under one arm.
"Dick Prescott has a few remarks to make first," Dave announced.
"Dick going to make a speech?"
"Cut it, and start the ball moving!"
"Won't you fellows interrupt your music lessons long enough to listen
to an idea that some of us have been talking over?" called Dick. "Now,
fellows, you know this is the time when the crack Gridley High School
football team is hard at work. We're all proud of the Gridley High
School eleven. A lot of you fellows expect to go to High School, and I
know you'd all like a chance to play on Gridley High's eleven."
"Set the ball moving!"
"Wait a minute," Dick insisted. "Now, fellows, no Grammar School in
Gridley has ever had an eleven."
"How could we," came a discontented wail, "if we have to stand here
and see Dave just do nothing but hold the ball?"
"Fellows," Dick went on impressively, "it's time to have Grammar
School football teams here in Gridley. Central Grammar ought to have
one, North Grammar one and South Grammar one. Then our three

Grammar Schools could play a championship series among
themselves."
"Hooray! Give the ball a throw, Dave!"
"So, fellows," Dick continued, "a lot of us think we ought to organize a
football team at once. Then we can challenge North Grammar and
South Grammar. We can practise the rest of this month, and next month
we can play off our games. What do you say?"
"Hooray!"
"We'll have two teams," called Dave. "We'll call one team the Rangers
and the other the Rustlers. Now, let's make Dick captain of the
Rangers."
"All right!"
"And Tom Craig captain of the Rustlers."
"Good!"
"All right, then," nodded Dave. "Dick, you pick out the Rangers; Craig,
you go ahead with the Rustlers. After we've practised a few times we'll
pick the best men from both elevens, and make up the Central
Grammar eleven. Get busy, captains!"
Forthwith the choosing began. Dick chose all his chums for his own
eleven. And no boy lower than seventh grade was allowed on either
team.
"Now, who'll be referee?" demanded Dick. "Captain Craig, have you
any choice?"
"Have we got any fellows, not on either team, who really know the
rules?" asked Tom Craig dubiously.
There was a hush, for this was surely a stumbling block. It seemed clear
that a referee ought to know the rules of the game.

"What's up, kids?" called a friendly voice.
The speaker was Len Spencer, a young man who had been graduated
from the High School the June before, and who was now serving his
apprenticeship as reporter on one of the two local daily papers, the
morning "Blade."
"Oh, see here, Len!" called Dick joyously. "You're just the right fellow
for us. You