Drayne fell back. He was not chosen at all for the scrub team.

Yet, as he had nearly a score of companions, out of the large football squad, he had no special reason to feel hurt. Those who had not been picked for either team lined up at the sides.

There was a chance that some of them might be called out as subs, though practice in signal work was hardly likely to result in any of the players being injured.

Drayne did not appear to take his mild snub very seriously.

In fact, after his one outbreak before the team captain, and his subsequent remarks to the girls, Drayne had appeared to fall in line, satisfied even to be a member of the school's big squad.

The ball was placed for a snap-back, and Coach Morton sounded the whistle.

"Twelve-nine-seventeen---twenty-eight---four!" called Dave Darrin.

Then the scrimmage was on in earnest. As soon as the play had properly developed Mr. Morton blew his whistle, for this was practice only in the signal part.

Then Hudson took the ball and Dalzell called off:

"Nine---eight---thirteen---two!"

Again the ball was put in play, to be stopped after ten seconds.

So it went on through the afternoon's work. The subst.i.tutes on the side lines watched with deep interest, for they, too, had to learn all the signal work.

Within three afternoons of practice d.i.c.k had nearly all of his players so that they knew every signal, and were instantly ready to execute their parts in whatever was called for.

But there was no danger of knowing the signals too well. Captain Prescott still called out the squad and gave signal work unceasingly.

"The 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 Sat.u.r.day," d.i.c.k 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 Sat.u.r.day.

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 d.i.c.k. "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 pa.s.sing.

"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 a.s.sembly room.

Bowing his thanks, d.i.c.k pa.s.sed 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 d.i.c.k, 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," d.i.c.k 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 Sat.u.r.day, 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 pa.s.sed the ball to tackle and he to the end?"

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, 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."