Part 6 (2/2)

Mr. Morton took the sheet of paper, from which he read:

_”Dear Old Gridleyites: If the enclosed is a fake, it won't work.

If there's really a traitor in your camp you ought to know it.

Milton High School doesn't take any games except by the use of its own fair fighting devices.

Decker, Captain, Milton High School Football Team.”_

”And here's a duplicate set of our signals, returned by our Milton friends,” went on d.i.c.k, with almost a sob in his voice. ”Fortunately, Mr. Decker thought to preserve the envelope that contained our signal code. Here is the envelope, addressed in some person's handwriting.”

Coach Morton seized the envelope, staring at it hard. He studied it with the practiced eye of a school teacher accustomed to overlooking examination papers in all styles of handwriting.

”The writer has tried to conceal his handwriting,” murmured the coach, rather brokenly. ”Yet I think we may succeed in tracing it back and fixing it on the sender.”

”Oh!” growled Dave Darrin savagely. ”I believe I know on whom to fasten this handwriting right now.”

”I have a possible offender in mind,” replied Mr. Morton more evenly. ”In a case of this kind we must proceed with such absolute caution and reserve that we will not be obliged to retract afterwards in deep shame and humiliation.”

”I think I've done all that I can, gentlemen,” broke in Mr. Jarvis.

”I think it is my place, now, to draw out of this painful business, and leave it to you whom it most concerns. But I am happy in the thought that I have been able to be of some service to you.

I will now state that I am authorized to offer to postpone Sat.u.r.day's game, if you wish, so that you may have time in, which to train up under changed signals.”

”If you consent, sir,” proposed d.i.c.k, turning to the coach, ”we'll go on with Sat.u.r.day's game just the same. There has been a big sale of tickets, the band has been engaged, and a good many arrangements made that will be expensive to cancel.”

”Can you do it?” asked Mr. Morton, looking doubtfully at thee young captain of the team. ”It's Thursday afternoon, now.”

”I feel that we've got to do it, sir,” d.i.c.k replied doggedly.

”Yes, sir; we'll make it, somehow.”

So the matter was arranged. The Gridleyites followed Jarvis out to the sidewalk, where they renewed their a.s.surances of regard for the att.i.tude taken by Tottenville High School. Then Jarvis hurried away to catch a train home.

”Now, young gentlemen,” proposed Mr. Morton, ”we'll go home and see whether we can engender the idea of eating any lunch, after this unmasking of villainy in our own crowd. But at half past two promptly to the minute, meet me at the High School. Remember, we've practice on for half past three.”

”Of all the mean, contemptible-----” began Darrin, after the submaster had left them.

”Stop right there, Dave!” begged his chum. ”This is the most fearful thing we've ever met, and we both want to think carefully before we trust ourselves to say another word on the shameful subject.”

So the two chums walked along in silence, soon parting to take their different ways home.

At half-past two both chums met Mr. Morton at the High School.

The submaster led the way to the office, producing his keys and unlocking the door. They had moved in silence so far.

”Take seats, please,” requested Mr. Morton, in a low voice. ”I'll be with you in a moment.”

The submaster then stepped over to a huge filing cabinet. Unlocking one of the sections, he looked busily through, then came back with a paper in his hand.

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