"We don't care, anyway," smiled d.i.c.k. "Let 'em hoot! I don't draw the line until they throw things."

"If they knew Phin Drayne as we do, they'd throw him first," grimaced Darrin.

A minute later another hoot went up. It was plain that the military school boys had been primed for this.

But the gray-clad youths, it was very soon evident, were not the only ones who had come out to make a noise. Half of the Fordham crowd present joined in the volleys of derision that were showered down on the practicing boys from Gridley.

"It's nothing but a mob!" declared Darrin, his eyes flashing.

"Careful, old fellow," counseled Prescott coolly. "They're trying to get our nerve before the game begins. Don't let 'em do it."

This excellent instruction d.i.c.k contrived to pa.s.s throughout his team. Thereafter the Gridley boys seemed not to hear the harsh witticisms that were hurled at them from all sides of the field.

Just in the nick of time the Gridley Band began playing. That stopped the annoyance for a while, for Fordham had neglected to provide a band.

Yet when the Gridley High School song was started by the band, and the Gridley boosters joined in the words, the answer from Fordham came in the form of a "laughing-song," let loose with such volume that the Gridley offering to the merriment was drowned out.

"I hope we can give this rough town a horrible thumping---that's all," muttered Dave, his eyes flashing.

"Don't let them capture your 'goat,' and we will," d.i.c.k promised, as quietly as ever.

The plain hostility of the home crowd was wearing in on more than one of the Gridley boys. d.i.c.k felt obliged to call his eleven together, and to give them some quiet, homely but forcible advice.

Coach Morton followed, with more in the same line.

Yet it came as a welcome relief to the Gridley youngsters when the referee and the other officials came to the field and game was called.

d.i.c.k Prescott won the toss, and took the kickoff.

That, of course, sent the ball into Fordham ranks. In an instant the solid Fordham line emitted a murmur that sounded like a bear's growl, then came thundering down upon the smaller Gridley youngsters.

There was a fierce collision, but Gridley held on like a herd of bulls. The ball was soon down.

For five minutes or so there was savage playing. Fordham played a "slugging" game of the worst kind. Several foul tackles were quickly made by home players, yet so quickly released that the referee could not be sure and could not inflict a penalty. Sly blows were struck when the lines came together.

The average football captain would have claimed penalties, and fought the matter out.

But d.i.c.k Prescott let matters run by. He was waiting his opportunity.

So hard was the "slugging," so overbearing and ruthlessly unfair was the Fordham charge that, at the end of five minutes, Gridley was forced to make a safety, losing two points at the outset.

"Yah!" sneered an exultant voice from the ranks of the military school. "That's the fine Captain Prescott we've heard about!"

Tom Reade, in togs, was standing among the Gridley subs at the side line.

Tom recognized, as did all the Gridley boys, the voice of Phin Drayne.

"Yes!" bellowed Tom, facing the gray-clad group. "And that last speaker was a fellow who was expelled from Gridley High School for selling out his team!"

It was a swift shot and a bull's-eye. The Fordham Inst.i.tute boys had no answer ready for that. Half of them turned to stare at Phin Drayne, whose guilty face, with color coming and going in flashes seemed to admit the truth of Reade's taunt.

"d.i.c.k," growled Darrin, as they moved forward, after the safety, to Gridley's twenty-five yard line, "these Fordham fellows are simply ruffians. They're fouling us every second, and they'll smash half our fellows into the hospital."

"We'll see about that!"

d.i.c.k Prescott's voice was as quiet and cool as ever, but there was an ominous flash in his eyes.

CHAPTER XV

"We'll Play the Gentleman's Game."

At the next down Dan Dalzell held up his hand, making a dash for the referee.

"I claim a foul!" he called.

"Captain, this is for you," announced the referee, turning to d.i.c.k. "Be quick, if you've any complaint to make."

"Come here, Dalzell," called Prescott. "What was the foul?"

The Fordham players crowded about, muttering in an ugly way---all except one man, who skulked at the rear.

"There's the hoodlum," continued Dan excitedly, one hand over his left breast. He pointed to the Fordham player skulking at the rear. "That fellow deliberately gave me the elbow over the heart when we came together."

"What have you to say, Captain Barnes?" demanded the referee, turning to the Fordham leader.

"It's not true," retorted Barnes hotly. "Daniels, come here."

The matter was argued quickly and hotly, Gridley accusing, Fordham hotly denying.

"Can't you Gridley fellows play with anything but your mouths?"

snarled Captain Barnes.

"We play a straight game," retorted d.i.c.k coldly. "We play like gentlemen."

"Do you mean that we're not?" demanded Barnes swaggeringly.

"So far you've played like a lot of sluggers."

"See here! I've a good mind to thrash you, Prescott!" quivered Barnes.

"It's always the truth that stings," retorted d.i.c.k, with a cool smile.

"My fist would hurt, too."

"That's what we're asking you to do---to save all your slugging and bruising tactics until after a straight and gentlemanly game has been played," retorted d.i.c.k, with spirit.