The High School Freshmen Part 3

"What's that?" rapped out Mr. Morton.

d.i.c.k, aroused, was on his feet again, like a flash.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Morton," he came out straightforwardly.

"That sounded like slang, or disrespect. I beg to a.s.sure you, sir, that neither was intended. The truth is-----"

"Your mind is busy with other things this morning, I see," smiled the sub-master.

"Ye-es, sir." d.i.c.k dropped once more into his seat. Ralph Morton sighed. That very popular young submaster, only three years out of college, was the hugely admired coach who had led the Gridley eleven to victory during the last three seasons. He was as disturbed as anyone could have been over the rumored intention of the Board of Education to take some unpleasant action regarding High School athletics.

It was a terribly unsatisfactory hour in IV. English. Five minutes before the period was up Mr. Morton dejectedly closed the text-book from which he had been questioning, and remarked, tersely:

"At ease!"

Instantly the buzz of whispering broke forth. It was required only that not enough noise be made to disturb the students in adjoining rooms.

d.i.c.k, Tom and Dan sat in the front row. Directly behind them were the other three members of the "Co."

"Say," muttered Dan, in a low undertone, "Mr. Morton looks half glum and half savage this morning, like the rest of us."

"Seems to," muttered Tom Reade.

"What do you make of _that_?" challenged Dan.

"There must be strong foundation for the little hint Dr. Thornton let fall this morning," guessed Dave Darrin.

"And Mr. Morton knows it's a straight tip," added Harry Hazelton, sagely.

"It'll be a confounded shame, if the Board does anything like that," glowed d.i.c.k Prescott, indignantly.

"They'll be so many dead ones, if they _do_," flared Tom Reade, hotly.

"Yes," agreed Dave Darrin. "But the worst about that Board of Education is that, though they _are_ dead ones, they're so very dead that they'll never find it out."

"Won't they, thought" whispered Dan Dalzell, hotly. "Say, I'm inclined to think they will! I-----"

"Dan!" whispered d.i.c.k, warningly.

"Yep; you've guessed right," grinned Dan. "I am hatching a scheme in my mind. I'm getting up something that will bring even that dummified Board to its senses."

"Then you can achieve the impossible," teased Reade.

"Say, but it's a warm one that's forming this time," whispered Dan, his eyes dancing. "I'll see you fellows at recess. Not a word until then. But you-----"

Ting-ling-ling. The bell connecting with the annunciator at the princ.i.p.al's desk was trilling in IV. English, as it was in all the other recitation rooms. IV. English rose, the boys waiting until the girls had pa.s.sed from the room. A study-hour in the big a.s.sembly room followed for d.i.c.k & Co. Yet, had anyone watched Dan Dalzell, it would have been found that young man was in the reference room, and reading, or thumbing---of all volumes in the English language---the city directory!

When recess broke, d.i.c.k & Co. quickly got together. By twos, d.i.c.k and Dave Darrin leading, they marched down through one of the side streets, it being permitted to High School pupils to go outside the yard in the near neighborhood.

Presently d.i.c.k halted before a stone wall. He eyed Dan keenly, who had been walking just behind with Harry Hazelton.

"Dan," demanded the leader, "you gave us to understand that your mind is seething again. Is that true?"

"Quite true," Dan averred, solemnly.

"What particular kind of cerebration is oscillating inside of your intelligence?" d.i.c.k queried.

"Which?" demanded Dan, suspiciously. "No, I never! I'm not that kind of fellow."

"In plain, freshman English, then, what's your scheme?"

"We'll have to get statistics," announced Dalzell, "before I can come right down to bare facts. When does the Board of Education, otherwise known as the Grannies' Club, meet?"

"Tonight, in the Board Room in the High School building," d.i.c.k answered.

"How many members are there?"

"Seven," d.i.c.k affirmed.

"That's not too many, then," continued Dan, thoughtfully.

"Not too many?" repeated d.i.c.k Prescott. "What do you mean?"

"Why, I've been refreshing my general information about this town by consulting the city directory. From that valuable tome I discovered that there are just nine undertakers in town."

"Now, what on earth are you driving at---or driveling at?" asked d.i.c.k Prescott, suspiciously, while the other partners remained wonderingly, eagerly silent.

"Why," pursued Dan, "we can summon seven of the undertakers for our job, and still leave two available for the public service."

d.i.c.k sprang up from the stone wall, tightly gripping Dan Dalzell by the coat collar.

"Help me watch this lunatic, fellows," urged d.i.c.k, quietly.

"He's dangerous. You've heard him! He's plotting a.s.sa.s.sination!"

"Undertakers don't a.s.sa.s.sinate anyone, do they?" queried Dan, with an air of mock innocence.

"What _are_ you plotting, then?" insisted d.i.c.k.

Dan's face broadened into a very p.r.o.nounced grin.

"Why, see here, fellows, there seems to be some fire behind Dr.

Thornton's smoke that the Board of Education may get excited over low recitation marks, and actually---_stop football_!" finished Dalzell, in a gasp.

The other five chums snorted. Dan Dalzell was presently able to control his feelings sufficiently to proceed:

"No one but actually dead ones would expect an American inst.i.tution of the higher learning to exist in these days without football.

Hence, if the Grannies' Club---I mean the School Board---are planning to stop football, or even believe that it is possible, then they're sure enough dead ones. Am I right?"

"Right and sane, after all," nodded d.i.c.k.