Dick Hamilton's Football Team Or A Young Millionaire On The Gridiron Part 21

"We will play some other strong team before we again ask Blue Hill to let us have a chance at them," suggested Mr. Martin. "Then, if we win, as I hope we shall, we will be more in their cla.s.s. Beating Dunkirk hardly put us there, even though we made a bigger score against them than Blue Hill did. And then, after you get your second wind, so to speak, we will consider getting into the Military League. Do you agree to that plan?"

"Sure!" came instantly from all present. The boys would have agreed to anything that would have paved the way to tackling Blue Hill.

"Then we'll go ahead on that understanding," proceeded the coach. "And now for the second part of the plan. You know it is of little benefit to play some team weaker than you are. What you want to do is to take on some eleven that you know is going to be hard to beat. That will bring out whatever good points we have not yet discovered. Is that clear?"

Once more the boys looked at each other in some astonishment. What was the coach leading to?

"Am I making myself clear?" he asked again.

"Yes. Sure. Go ahead," were some of the answers.

"Then the plan of Mr. Spencer and myself is this," went on Mr. Martin.

"We will put you through some hard practice in the next week, and then we will challenge Haskell University."

For a moment there was a period of intense silence in the room. Then several half-astonished gasps could be heard. Once more the boys looked at one another, but this time, instead of with puzzled glances, it was more with looks of fear, or at least uncertainty.

"Haskell University," murmured d.i.c.k Hamilton.

"Champions of the Military League year before last," added Innis.

"And likely to be again this year," put in George Hall.

"And he wants us to tackle them--us the tail-enders," muttered Jim Watkins. "It can't be did! We'd all be in the hospital, fellows, and our team would be crippled."

Talk was flying thick and fast now, and almost every remark seemed to be against the daring plan of the coaches. Then d.i.c.k realized that he, as captain, ought to say something. It would not do to knuckle under in this craven fas.h.i.+on. A team to do anything must do or dare.

"If Haskell will take us on, we'll play them," he said simply, as he arose in his seat. "But will they, after Blue Hill turned us down?"

"I'm glad that at least your captain isn't afraid," spoke Mr. Spencer, for he and his colleague had heard the half-suppressed whispers of objection. "I know it sounds like a big thing to you, for I know what a strong team Haskell has. But I believe it will do you good to play that eleven. Of course if you don't feel that you could stand the pace, or----"

"Go on! Challenge 'em! We'll play 'em."

"Of course we will."

"And beat 'em, too!"

These expressions took the place of those heard a few minutes before. It argued a good change of heart.

"I'm glad to hear that," commented Mr. Martin. "Then if Manager Hatfield will confer with us after the meeting and practice, we will arrange to get a date with them."

"But will they play us?" asked d.i.c.k. "You know they always like to arrange big games, and they may not want to take us on."

"Oh, I fancy that can be arranged," spoke Mr. Martin easily. "Mr.

Spencer and I know the coach there and he is a good friend of ours. I am acquainted with the captain, too, and I am almost sure they will give us a game. Now let me congratulate you once more on the showing you made yesterday, and suggest that we get out to practice. We can't get any too much if we are to play Haskell--and beat them." He concluded his remarks with a grim smile.

"Beat 'em! We'll be lucky if we hold 'em down to as much as the score by which we beat Dunkirk," remarked George Hall, as he stepped out beside Captain d.i.c.k.

"Here! None of that!" cried the young millionaire, half seriously.

"None of what?" asked George.

"That treason talk," replied d.i.c.k. "I want you all to feel that we're going to win, or there isn't much use playing."

"Oh, well, just as you say," agreed George with a laugh. "Do you think we'll win, Paul Drew?"

"Of course," was the answer, for Paul was always loyal to his chum.

As several of the cadets were lame and stiff from the unusual exertion in the Dunkirk game, only light practice was indulged in. Several minor faults were corrected, and then the coaches put their charges through some wing-s.h.i.+ft plays, and gave them a chance to improve their work in the on-side kick and the forward pa.s.s, in both of which the Kentfield lads were a trifle uncertain.

"Oh, we'll have you in shape to tackle Haskell before you know it," said Mr. Martin encouragingly.

If any of the players were doubtful about this they did not say so, and they took heart from the confident air d.i.c.k Hamilton a.s.sumed.

In the days that followed the practice gradually became more and more rigorous, and, as a result, fast, snappy playing became the order of the day.

"Have you heard whether or not Haskell will play us?" asked Paul of d.i.c.k one night, as they sat in their room studying and waiting for "taps" to sound.

"No, I haven't. I meant to ask Hatfield to-day whether he had heard from their manager, but I was so busy drilling a squad of raw recruits that I didn't get a chance. Guess I'll go to his room now and ask him. I'll have time I think."

As d.i.c.k arose there sounded the mournful yet sweet notes of the bugle that was a signal for "lights" out.

"Too late!" exclaimed Paul.

"I'll chance it," ventured d.i.c.k. "I can cross to his dormitory by the rear path, and the sentries are hardly posted yet. Besides, I guess they won't report me when they know it's football matters. I'm anxious to know."

"Better stay here--morning will do," counseled Paul.

"No, I'm going, I'll be right back," replied his roommate, and off d.i.c.k started before the last notes of the bugle had died away.

Rules regarding being out of the academy after taps were very strict, except at certain times when more liberty was allowed. But this was not one of those occasions, and d.i.c.k knew he would have to be careful. He did not mind indulging in a few pranks occasionally, but now, as he was on the eleven, and captain as well, it behooved him to be careful, so that he would not be barred from athletics.

He swung quietly along the tree-shaded path leading to the dormitory where Hatfield had his rooms. The path was not so well shaded now as in summer, for the trees were almost leafless save for certain oaks, the brown foliage of which rustled in the night wind.

"Sounds like a storm," mused the young millionaire. "I hope it keeps clear long enough for the Haskell game--that is if they'll play us."

As he strolled along he kept a lookout for any sentries, for sometimes new cadets were picked for this duty, and they took delight in reporting their older comrades. But the coast seemed to be clear.

"Guess I'll go see how Grit is, before I go to Hatfield's room," said d.i.c.k half aloud, for his pet was now kept in one of the stable barracks.

"Poor old fellow, I wish they'd let me keep him with me nights; but they won't."

He swung off in the direction of the building where the cavalry horses were kept, and, as he neared the one where his dog slept he saw a dark figure step out from behind a tree. The figure was that of a cadet with a rifle.

"Hope that's a friend of mine," mused d.i.c.k grimly.

A moment later came the command:

"Halt!"

d.i.c.k obeyed.