Part 6 (1/2)
”Why, this is one of the Tottenville team, isn't it?”
”Mr. Morton, Captain Jarvis, of the Tottenville High School team,”
replied d.i.c.k, and the two shook hands.
Then d.i.c.k drew the typewritten doc.u.ment from his pocket. They could talk here, for Mr. Pollock had been the only other occupant of the room, and that editor has just stepped out to the composing room.
”Captain Jarvis received this in the mail this morning, sir,”
announced Prescott, in a voice that quivered with emotion.
Coach glanced through the paper, his face showing plainly what he felt. Then d.i.c.k took the paper and pa.s.sed it to Dave Darrin, who sat consumed by curiosity.
”The abominable traitor---whoever he is!” cried Dave, rising as though he found his chair red hot. ”And I think I can come pretty near putting the tag on the sneak!”
CHAPTER IV
The Traitor Gets His Deserts
Mr. Morton hesitated a moment, ere he trusted himself to speak.
”Yes,” he murmured. ”I fear we all suspect the same young man.”
”Phin Drayne!” cried Dave, in a voice quivering with anger.
”I didn't intend to name him,” resumed the coach. ”It's a serious thing to do.”
”To sell out one's school---I should say 'yes'!” choked Darrin.
”No; I meant that it is a fearful thing to accuse anyone until we have proof that can't be disputed,” added Mr. Morton gravely, though his muscles were twitching as though he had been stricken by palsy.
”Listen,” begged d.i.c.k, ”while Mr. Jarvis tells you all he knows of this dastardly business.”
The Tottenville captain repeated his short tale. Then Coach Morton asked several rapid questions. But there was no more to be told than d.i.c.k Prescott already knew.
”I'm tremendously sorry about that envelope,” protested Jarvis.
”I'd give anything to be able to hand that envelope over to you, but I'm afraid I'll never see it again.”
”We appreciate your anxiety to help, Mr. Jarvis, as deeply as we appreciate your manliness in coming to us without an instant's delay,” replied Mr. Morton, earnestly.
At this moment the office boy entered with the mail sack.
”Mr. Pollock!” he bellowed, tossing the sack down on the editor's desk. Then the office boy hurried to the rear of the building, intent on other duties.
Mr. Pollock returned to his desk, opening the mail. The football folks in the further corner lowered their voices almost to whispers.
”Letter for you, d.i.c.k,” called Mr. Pollock, tossing aside an envelope.
Excusing himself, d.i.c.k darted over to get his mail. In an instant he came back, with a flushed face.
”Here's something that may interest you all,” whispered d.i.c.k, shaking as though fever had seized him.