The High School Captain of the Team | Page 9

for your honesty, sir."
"Why, I always have rather prided myself on a desire to do the manly
thing," smiled Captain Jarvis.

"May I ask how this came into your possession?" demanded Dick.
"It was in our family mail box, this morning, and I took it out on my
way to school," replied Jarvis. "You see, the heading on the first sheet
shows that the document purports to give the Gridley signals."
"And it does give them, to a dot," groaned Prescott, paling again.
"So I showed it to our coach, Mr. Matthews, and to some of the
members of the team," continued Mr. Jarvis. "I would have brought this
to you, in any case, and I'm heartily glad to say that every one of our
fellows agreed that it was the only manly thing to do."
"You have won the Gridley gratitude," protested Dick. "This code
couldn't have been tabulated by anyone but a member of our own squad.
No one else had access to this list. There's a Benedict Arnold
somewhere in our crowd," continued Dick, with a sudden rush of
righteous passion. "Oh, I wish we could find him. But this typewriting,
I fear, will give us no conclusive evidence. Was the address on the
envelope in which this came also typewritten?"
"No," replied Mr. Jarvis. "I opened this communication on the street,
while on my way to school. I tossed the envelope away. Then I fell to
studying this document."
"You must have thought it a hoax," smiled Dick wearily.
"I did, at first, yes," continued the Tottenville football captain. "In fact,
I was half of that mind when I left Tottenville to come here. But I was
determined to find out the truth of the matter. Mr. Prescott, I'm very
nearly as sorry as you can be, to have to bring you this evidence that
you have a sneak in Gridley High School."
"I'd far rather have lost Saturday's game," choked Prescott, "than to
discover that we've such a sneak in Gridley High School. I'm fearfully
upset. I wish I had any kind of evidence on which to find this sneak."
"Have you any suspicions?"

"That would be too much to say yet."
"Of course, Mr. Prescott," continued the Tottenville youth, "you'll now
have to revise all your signals. It will be a huge undertaking between
now and Saturday. If you wish to postpone the game, I'll consent. Our
coach has authorized me to say this."
"I think not," replied Dick, "though on behalf of the team I thank you.
I'll have to speak to our coach, and Mr. Morton is in his classroom,
occupied until the close of the school session."
"I'll meet you anywhere, Mr. Prescott, after school is over."
"You're mighty good, Mr. Jarvis," murmured Dick gratefully. "Now, by
the way, if we're to catch the sneak who has done this dastardly thing,
we've got to work fast. We ought not to let the traitor suspect anything
until we're ready to act. Mr. Jarvis, do you mind leaving here promptly,
and going to 'The Morning Blade' office? If you tell Mr. Pollock that
you're waiting for me, he'll give you a chair and plenty to read."
"I'm off, then," smiled Jarvis, rising and reaching for his hat.
"I want to shake hands with you, Jarvis, and to thank you again for your
manly conduct in bringing this thing straight to me."
"Why, that's almost insulting," retorted Jarvis quizzically. "Why
shouldn't an American High School student be a gentleman? Wouldn't
you have done the same for me, if the thing had been turned around?"
"Of course," Dick declared hastily. "But I'm glad that this fell into your
hands. If we had gone into the game, relying on this signal code-----"
"We'd have burned you to a crisp on the gridiron," laughed Jarvis. "But
what earthly good would it do our school to win a game that we got by
clasping hands with a sneak and a traitor? Can any school care to win
games in that fashion? But now, I'm off for 'The Blade's office---if your
Mr. Pollock doesn't throw me out."

"He won't," Dick replied, "I'm a member of 'The Blade' staff."
"Don't go back into assembly room with a face betraying as much as
yours does," whispered Captain Jarvis, over his shoulder.
"Thank you for the tip," Dick responded.
When young Prescott stepped back into the general assembly room his
face, though not all the color had returned to it, wore a smiling
expression. He stepped jauntily, with his head well up, as he moved to
his seat.
For fifteen minutes or more Dick made a pretense of studying his
trigonometry hard. Then, picking up a pen with a careless gesture, he
wrote slowly, with an appearance of indifference, this note:
_"Dear Mr. Morton: