The High School Captain of the Team | Page 6

quiet, Jess," urged Belle.
"Why," explained Laura Bentley, "Phin Drayne just passed us, and stopped to chat when Jessie spoke to him-----"
"I didn't," objected Miss Vance indignantly. "I only said good afternoon, and---"
"I asked Drayne if he had been out to the field for practice," continued Laura. "He grunted, and said he'd been out to see how badly things were going."
"Then, of course, Laura flared up and asked what he meant by such talk," broke in the irrepressible Jessie. "Then---ouch!"
For Belle had slyly pinched the talkative one's arm.
"Mr. Drayne had a great string to offer us," resumed Laura. "He said football affairs had never been in as bad shape before, and he predicted that the team would go to pieces in all the strong games this year."
"We have a rule of unswerving loyalty in the history of our eleven," said Prescott, smiling, though a grim light lurked in his eyes. "I guess Phin was merely practicing some of that loyalty."
"None of us care what Drayne thinks, anyway," broke in Dave Darrin contemptuously. "He wants to play as a regular, and he's slated only as a possible sub. So I suppose he simply can't see how the eleven is to win without him. But, making allowances for human nature, I don't believe we need to roast him for his grouch."
"I didn't think his talk was worth paying any attention to," added Laura. "I wouldn't have said anything about it, if it hadn't leaked out."
Jessie took this rebuke to herself, and flushed, as she rattled on:
"I guess it was no more than mere 'sorehead' talk on Phin Drayne's part, anyway. Mr. Drayne said he had saved a good deal of his pocket money, lately, and that he was going to win more money by betting on Gridley's more classy opponents this season."
"There's a fine and loyal High School fellow for you!" muttered Greg.
"Suppose we all change the subject," proposed Dick good-humoredly.
Two or three minutes later Dick & Co. again lifted their caps, then continued on their way.
"Dick," whispered Dave, "on the whole, I'm glad that was repeated to us."
"Why?"
"It ought to put us on our guard?"
"Guard? Against whom?"
"I should say against Phin Drayne."
"But he's merely offering to bet that we can't win our biggest games this year," smiled Prescott. "That doesn't prove that we can't win, does it?"
"Oh, of course not."
"Any fellow that will lower himself enough to make wagers on sporting events shows too little judgment to be entitled to have any spending money," pursued Prescott. "But, if Drayne has money, and is going to bet, he won't be entitled to any sympathy when he loses, will he?"
"Humph!" grunted Dave. "I'd like to have this matter followed up. Any fellow who is betting against us ought not to be allowed to play at all."
"Oh, it was just the talk of a silly, disappointed fellow," argued Dick. "I suppose a boy is a good deal like a man, always. There are some men who imagine that it lends importance to themselves when they talk loudly and offer to wager money. I'm not going to offer any bets, Dave, but I feel pretty certain that Drayne is just talking for effect."
"His offering to bet against his own crowd would be enough to justify you in dropping Drayne from the squad altogether," hinted Greg Holmes.
"Yes, of course," admitted Dick. "But we had enough of football soreheads last year. Now, wouldn't it make us look like soreheads if we took any malicious delight in dropping Drayne from the squad just because he has been blowing off some steam?"
"But I wouldn't trust him on the job," snapped Dan Dalzell. "I believe Phin Drayne would sell out any crowd for sheer spite."
"Even his country?" asked Dick quietly.
And there the matter dropped, for the time. Had Dick & Co. and some other High School fellows but known it, however, Drayne would have borne close watching.

CHAPTER III
Putting the Tag on the Sneak
Anything that Dick Prescott had charge of went along at leaps and bounds. Hence the football eleven was in good shape ten days earlier than Coach Morton could remember to have happened before.
"Your eleven is all ready to line up in the field, now, Captain," announced coach, one afternoon not long after, as the squad came out from dressing quarters for practice.
"I'm glad you think so, sir," replied Dick, a flush of pleasure mantling his cheeks.
"You have every man in fine condition. Condition couldn't be better, in fact, for those of the men who are likely to get on the actual battle line. And all the work is well understood, too. In fact, Captain, you can all but rest on your oars during the next fortnight, up to your first game."
"Hadn't we better go on training hard every day, sir?" inquired the young captain.
"Not hard," replied coach, shaking his