The High School Left End Part 20

Then came several more yells, a note of terror in them all.

Five youngsters of the football squad were so near the gate that they broke into a run for the open. Coach Morton, too, sped ahead at full steam, though he was some distance behind the members of the squad. The citizens followed, running and puffing.

Once outside, they all came upon a curious sight. One of the smallest members of Gridley's police force had attempted to stop a big, red-faced, broad-shouldered man who, coatless and hatless had come running down the street.

Two men had gotten in the way of this fellow and had been knocked over. Then the little policeman had darted in, bent on distinguishing himself. But the red-faced man, crazed by drink, had bowled over the policeman and had fallen on top of him. The victor had begun to beat the police officer when the sight of a rapidly-growing crowd angered the fellow.

Leaping up, the red-faced one had glared about him, wondering whom next to attack, while the officer lay on his back, more than half-dazed.

Making up his mind to catch and thrash some one, the red-faced man came along, shouting savagely. It was just at this moment that d.i.c.k Prescott and Greg Holmes, sprinting fast, came out through the gateway.

"Look out, boys! He'll kill you!" shouted one well-meaning citizen in the background.

"Will he?" grunted d.i.c.k grimly. "Greg, I'll tackle the fellow---you be ready to fall on him. Head down, now---charge!"

As though they had darted around the right end of the football battle line, and had sighted the enemy's goal line, Prescott and Holmes charged straight for the infuriated fellow.

"Get outer my way!" roared red-face, turning slightly and running furiously at them.

d.i.c.k's head was down, but that did not prevent his seeing through his long hair.

"Get out of my way, you kid!" gasped the big fellow, halting in his amazement as he saw this youngster coming straight at him.

Greg was off the sidewalk, running a few feet out from the gutter

But d.i.c.k sailed straight in. As he came close, red-faced seemed to feel uneasy about this reckless boy, for the big fellow, holding his fists so that he could use them, swerved slightly to one side.

Fifty people were looking on, now, most of them amazed and fearing for young Prescott.

But d.i.c.k, running still lower, charged straight for his man.

The big fellow, with a bellow, aimed his fists.

d.i.c.k wasn't hit, however. Instead, he grappled with the fellow, just below the thighs, then straightened up somewhat---all quick as a flash.

That big mountain of flesh swayed, then toppled. Red-face went down, not with a crash, but more after the manner of a collapse.

As he fell, Greg darted in from the street and fell upon the big fellow's chest. In another instant young Prescott was a-top of the fellow.

"Keep him down, boys!" yelled Coach Morton.

Just before the coach sprinted to the spot Dave Darrin, then Tom Reade, and then Tom Purcell, hurled themselves into the fray.

When the coach arrived he could not find a spot on red-face at which to take hold.

The policeman, limping a bit, came up as fast as he could.

"Will you young gentlemen help me to put these handcuffs on?"

asked the officer, dangling a pair of steel bracelets.

"Will we?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Dave. "Whoop!"

"Roll the fellow over!" called d.i.c.k Prescott.

With a gleeful shout the squad members rolled red-face over, dragging his powerful arms behind his back. There was a scuffle, but Coach Morton helped. A minute more and the handcuffs had been snapped in place.

In the eyes of the recent kicker, back on the field, there now appeared a gleam of something very much akin to enthusiasm.

"What do you say, now?" asked that man's companion. "Though, of course, Prescott and Holmes knew that help wasn't far off."

"It doesn't make any difference," retorted the recent kicker.

"Either boy might have been killed by that big brute before the help could have arrived."

"Then does football teach nerve?"

"It certainly must!" agreed the recent kicker.

CHAPTER XII

d.i.c.k, LILE CAESAR, REFUSES THE CROWN

A few days later the members of the school team, and the subst.i.tutes, had been announced. Then the men who had made the team came together at the gymnasium.

Who was to be captain of the eleven?

For once there seemed to be a good deal of hanging back.

If there were any members of the team who believed themselves supremely fitted to lead, at least they were not egotistical enough to announce themselves.

There was a good deal of whispering during the five minutes before Mr. Morton called them to order. Some of the whisperers left one group to go over to another.

"Now, then, gentlemen!" called Coach Morton. "Order, please!"

Almost at once the murmuring stopped.

"Before we can go much further," continued the coach, "it will be necessary to decide upon a captain. I don't wish to have the whole voice in the matter. If you are to follow your captain through thick and thin, in a dozen or more pitched football battles, it is well that you should have a leader who will possess the confidence of all. Now, whom do you propose for the post of captain?

Let us discuss the merits of those that may be proposed."

Just for an instant the murmuring broke out afresh.

Then a shout went up:

"Purcell!"

But that young man shook his head.