Part 7 (1/2)
”I think I know whom you both suspect,” began coach.
”Phin Drayne,” spoke d.i.c.k, without hesitation.
”Yes. Well here is Drayne's recent examination paper in modern literature. It is, of course, in his own handwriting.”
Eagerly the two football men and their coach bent over to compare Drayne's handwriting with that on the envelope that had come back from Milton.
”There has been an attempt at disguise,” announced Mr. Morton, using a magnifying gla.s.s over the two specimens of writing. ”Yet I am rather sure, in my own mind, that a handwriting expert would p.r.o.nounce both specimens to have been written by the same hand.”
”We've nailed Drayne, then,” muttered Darrin vengefully.
”It looks like it,” a.s.sented Mr. Morton. ”However, we'll go slowly.
For the present I'll put this examination paper with our other 'exhibits' and secure them all carefully in my inside pocket.
Now, then, let us make our pencils fly for a while in getting up a revised code of signals.”
It was not a long task after all. From the two typewritten copies d.i.c.k copied the first half of the plays, Dave the latter. Then Coach Morton went over the new sheets, rapidly jotting down new figures that should make all plain.
”Ten minutes past three,” muttered coach, thrusting all the papers in his inside pocket and b.u.t.toning his coat. ”Now, we'll have to take a car and get up to the field on the jump.”
”But, oh, the task of drilling all the new calls into the fellows between now and Sat.u.r.day afternoon!” groaned Dave Darrin, in a tone that suggested real misery.
”We'll do it,” retorted Captain d.i.c.k. ”We've got to!”
”And to make the boys forget all the old calls, so that they won't mix the signals!” muttered Dave disconsolately.
”We'll do it!”
It was Coach Morton who took up the refrain this time. And it was Prescott who added:
”We've got to do it. Nothing is impossible, when one must!”
It was just twenty-five minutes past three when the coach and his two younger companions turned around the corner of the athletic grounds and slipped in through the gate.
Most of the fellows were in the dressing quarters.
Phin Drayne sat on the edge of a locker chest. One of his feet lay across the knee of the other leg. He was in the act of unlacing one of his street shoes when Coach Morton called to him.
”Me?” asked Phin, looking up quickly.
”Yes,” said Mr. Morton quietly. ”I want to post you about something.”
”Oh, all right; right with you, sir,” returned Phin, leaping up and following the coach outside.
”What is it?” asked Phin, beginning to feel uneasy.
”Come along where the others can't hear,” replied Mr. Morton, taking hold of Drayne's nearer elbow.
Phin turned white now. He went along, saying nothing, until Mr.