Part 7 (1/2)
”Then please don't let out a word,” begged young Prescott, ”about d.i.c.k & Co., as we fellows are called, being at the bottom of the plot against the Board of Education.”
”Not a word!” promised Captain Edgeworth, gravely.
Then d.i.c.k was hustled good-naturedly to the door, Ben Badger once more springing forward to hold it open. As d.i.c.k hurried out onto the sidewalk a hurricane of cheers followed him. Then, as the door was closing, came a fierce burst of the High School yell.
Just as it happened, this parting salute couldn't have been worse timed. Within four doors Dr. Thornton, the princ.i.p.al, was sauntering slowly along. He heard tine hubbub, of course, and looked up, to see d.i.c.k Prescott coming out alone, a pleased look on his flushed face.
Across the street, just coming out of a store, was Chairman Jason Stone of the Gridley Board of Education.
”Young Prescott! Bless my soul!” murmured Dr. Thornton. ”Why are the football team making such a row over that young freshman?”
In another instant the princ.i.p.al's question all but answered itself.
”Why, I wonder,” muttered the good doctor, ”if the enthusiasm in any way relates to the hoax on the Board. Was Prescott at the bottom of it? I'll keep it in mind and try to find out!”
”If the football crew are making all that row over a mere freshman,”
thought Chairman Stone, ”then young Prescott must be the inventor of the yarn that has made Gridley wonder whether we of the Board are so many 'dead ones.' Hm! hm! I'll find out if that's the case. Such a trick is clearly one that would call for expelling the young man from the High School!”
CHAPTER IV
CAPTION OF THE HOUNDS
”Is that mucker going to run today?”
The questioner was Fred Ripley, and his voice was full of disgust.
He glared at d.i.c.k Prescott, who was seated unconcernedly on a stone wall, awaiting the arrival of Tom Reade and Dan Dalzell, the only other members of d.i.c.k & Co. who were to figure in today's event.
”Is who going to run?” asked Ben Badger.
”That little mucker, Prescott?” insisted Fred.
”Yes,” returned Badger, shortly.
”Gridley H.S. is getting worse and worse,” growled Ripley.
”Athletics ought to be confined to the best sort of fellows in the school. These little muckers, these n.o.bodies, ought to be kept out of everything in which the real fellows take part.”
”Don't be a cad, Ripley,” retorted Badger, half angrily.
”Oh, I'm no great stickler for caste, and that sort of thing,”
Fred grumbled on. ”I'm democratic enough, when it comes to that, and I a.s.sociate with a good many fellows whose fathers don't stand as high in the community as mine does.”
”That's really kind of you,” mimicked Ben Badger, with another look of disgust at the rich lawyer's son. ”Of course, you feel just as though anything that your father may have accomplished puts you in a rather more elect lot.”
”Of course, it does,” retorted Fred, drawing himself up stiffly.
”Still, you know as well as anyone does, Badger, that I'm not stuck up just on account of family or position. I'm ready to give the friend's hand to any of the right sort of fellows. But what is that little mucker, Prescott? His parents peddle books and newspapers.”
”They run a book and periodical shop, if that is what you mean,”
rejoined Ben, disgustedly, as he looked the young sn.o.b over for the third time. ”Some mighty big people have done that in times past. As to position, Prescott's father isn't a rich man, nor a very successful one, but I wish I could look forward, some day, to being half as well educated as d.i.c.k's father is.”