The High School Captain of the Team | Page 8

Gridley boys never jumped so swiftly to carry out their signals
before, Captain," spoke Mr. Morton commendingly.
"I want to have this line of work ahead of anything that Tottenville can
show next Saturday," Dick replied.

"I guess you have the Tottenville boys beaten all right," nodded Mr.
Morton.
Tottenville High School always gave one of the stiffest games that
Gridley had to meet. This season Tottenville was first on the list.
Prescott's young men knew that they had a stiff fight. It was to take
place on the Gridley grounds---that was comfort to the home eleven.
The entire student body was now feeling the enthusiasm of the opening
of the season on Saturday.
The townsmen of Gridley had subscribed as liberally as ever to the
athletics fund. There had also been a fine advance sale of seats, and the
Gridley band had been engaged to make the occasion a lively one.
"You'll win, if ever the signs were worth anything, Captain," remarked
Mr. Morton to Prescott, at recess Thursday forenoon.
"Of course we'll win, sir," laughed Dick. "That's the Gridley
way---that's all. We don't know how to be whipped. I've been taught
that ever since I first entered the High School."
"Pshaw!" muttered Drayne, who was passing.
"Don't you believe our chances are good, Mr. Drayne?" asked Mr.
Morton, smiling.
"I look upon the Gridley chances as being so good, sir," replied Phin,
"that, if I weren't a member of the squad, and a student of the High
School, I think I'd be tempted to bet all I could raise on Tottenville."
"Betting is too strong a vice for boys, Mr. Drayne," replied the
submaster, rather stiffly. "And doubt of your own comrades isn't very
good school spirit."
"I was talking, for the moment, as an outsider," replied Phin Drayne,
flushing.
"Change around then, Mr. Drayne, and consider yourself, like every

other student of this school, as an insider wherever the Gridley interests
are involved."
Drayne moved away, a half-sneer on his face.
"I don't like that young man," muttered Mr. Morton confidentially to
the young captain of the team.
"I have no violent personal admiration for him," Prescott answered.
Then the bell sounded, calling all the boys and girls back to their
studies.
At just about the hour of noon, a young caller strode into the yard,
paused an instant, studying the different entrances of the High School
building, then kept straight on and entered.
"A visitor for Mr. Prescott, in the reception, room," announced the
teacher in charge of the assembly room.
Bowing his thanks, Dick passed out of the room, crossed the hall,
entered a small room, and turned to greet his caller.
A fine-looking, broad-shouldered, bronzed young man of nineteen rose
and came forward, holding out his hand.
"Do you remember me, Mr. Prescott?" asked the caller heartily.
"I've played football against you, somewhere," replied Dick, studying
the other's face closely.
"Yes, I guess you have," laughed the other. "I played with Tottenville
last year. I'm captain this season. Jarvis is my name."
"Oh, I'm downright glad to see you, Mr. Jarvis," Dick went on. "Be
seated, won't you?"
"Yes; if you wish. Though I've half a notion that what I have to say
may bring you jumping out of your seat in a moment."

"Anything happened that you want to postpone the game?" inquired
Prescott, taking a chair opposite his caller.
"No; we're ready for Saturday, and will give you the stiffest fight that is
in us," returned Jarvis. "But see here, Mr. Prescott, I'll come direct to
the point. Is 'thirty-eight, nine, eleven, four' your team's signal for a
play around the left end, after quarter has passed the ball to tackle and
he to the end?"
Dick started, despite himself, for that was truly the signal for that play.
"Really Mr. Jarvis, you don't expect me to tell you our signals!"
laughed Dick, pretending to be unconcerned.
But Jarvis called off another signal and interpreted it.
"From your face I begin to feel sure that I'm reeling off the right
signals," pursued the Tottenville youth. "Now, I'll get still closer to the
point, Mr. Prescott."
From an inside pocket Jarvis drew forth four typewritten pages,
clamped together and neatly folded.
"Run your eye over these pages, Mr. Prescott, or as far as you want to
go."
As Dick read down the pages every vestige of color faded from his
face.
Here was Gridley's whole elaborate signal code, laid down in black and
white to the last detail. It was all flawlessly correct, too.
"Mr. Jarvis," said Dick, looking up, "you've been a gentleman in this
matter. This is our signal code, signal for signal. It's the code on which
we relied for our chance to give your team a thrashing on Saturday. I
thank you