Part 23 (1/2)

As the first section of the special rolled in at the railway station the part of the crowd that was ”going” began to break up into groups headed for the different parts of the train.

Herr Schimmelpodt went, of course, to the car that carried the team. The boys wouldn't have been satisfied to start or to travel without him. The big German had come to be the mascot of Gridley High School.

Just before the train started Herr Schimmelpodt waddled out to the rear platform of the car.

In his right hand he brandished a ma.s.sive cane to which the Gridley High School colors were secured.

”Now, listen,” he bellowed out. ”Ve come back our scalps not wigs! You hear dot, alretty?”

While the cheering was still going on, and while the band was cras.h.i.+ng out music, the first section pulled out, making room for the second section.

A run of a little more than an hour at good speed, and with no way stops, brought the Gridley invading forces to Fordham.

At the depot, the local team's second coach awaited the players.

He had two stages at hand, into which the team and subs piled.

A wagon followed, carrying the kits of the Gridley boys. There were two more stages for the band. All the other travelers had to depend on the street-car service.

Finding the stages rather crowded, d.i.c.k nudged Darrin, then made for the kit wagon.

”I really believe we'll have more comfort, Dave,” proposed Prescott, ”if we get aboard, this rig and ride on top of the tog bags.”

The suggestion was carried out at once.

”I'll drive along fast, if you want,” proposed the driver, ”and get the togs down to the grounds ahead of your team.”

”If you please,” nodded d.i.c.k. ”Our boys will want everything ready when they reach the grounds.”

So the two chums were quickly carried beyond the noise and confusion.

A few minutes later the wagon turned in at the Fordham Athletic grounds.

The Fordham High School boys were out in the field, practicing.

As seen in their padded togs they were an extra-bulky looking lot.

”Great Scott!” grunted Darrin, half disgustedly. ”Each one of those Fordham fellows must weigh close to a ton.”

”The more weight the less speed, anyway,” laughed d.i.c.k good-humoredly.

”And, look! I wonder how old some of those fellows are,” continued Darrin. ”I wonder if, in this town, men wait until they've made their fortunes and retired, before they enter High School. Why, some of these Fordham fellows must have voted for president the last two times.”

”Hardly as bad as that, I guess,” smiled Prescott. ”Still, these Fordham boys do look more like a college eleven than a High School crowd.”

Dave continued to gaze over at the home team, and to scowl, until the wagon was halted before dressing quarters. Here the teamster and another man made short work of carrying in all the tog-bags.

A few minutes later the other fellows arrived.

”Say, which team is it we're fighting to-day?” demanded Hudson.

”Harvard, or Yale?”

There was general grumbling comment.