Dick Hamilton's Football Team; Or, A Young Millionaire On The Gridiron
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CHAPTER XXVII
DICK IS SUMMONED
The Kentfield cadets accepted the invitation of their late opponents, tostay and see them break training.
"As long as we didn't have a chance at the championship I'm glad youfellows have," confided Captain Russell of Mooretown to Dick. "Of coursewe'd have liked to have beaten you chaps, but I guess we over-trained.We haven't any regular coaches, and we did the best we could."
"You sure did," assented Dick heartily. "It's too bad you went back. Youwere fine early in the season."
"I know it, and that shows that it pays to have regular coaches who knowtheir business. How in the world did you fellows manage to get Martinand Spencer?"
"Oh, we worked it by a forward pass," replied the young millionaire witha laugh.
There was jolly fun at Mooretown that night, in spite of the defeat. Theteam burned their suits at a big bonfire, and danced around the blazelike Indians, singing college songs and cheering their opponents who,in turn shouted for their plucky but unfortunate enemies.
Then came a long and rather dreary ride back to Kentfield in a way-trainthat stopped at every station. But the boys enlivened the trip by songsand cheers so that they were not very lonesome.
"Well Dick, I must get back in the morning," said Mr. Hamilton to hisson when they said good-night in Dick's room.
"You won't try to see Duncaster again?"
"No, it would be of little use. He is evidently set in his ways. My onlyhope is that he doesn't turn over to the other side. If he does----"
The millionaire paused.
"Well?" asked Dick suggestively.
"The Hamilton fortune will be a thing of the past, son."
"As bad as that?"
Mr. Hamilton nodded.
"But I'm not going to give up," he declared. "I have some other irons inthe fire, and I may be able to forge them to the shape I want. It'sgoing to be hard work, though, and it would be much easier if I had theDuncaster stock. By the way, you say that Porter chap, whose father isworking against us, attends here?"
"Yes, but I fancy he won't after to-morrow," said Dick significantly.
He was right. Sam Porter's room was vacant the next day, and he left noword of where he had gone. He knew his trick had been discovered, andthat it had gone for naught.
Several days later he sent a note to his former crony Weston, asking tosee him, but Weston refused.
"I was his friend once," he said to Dick, "but I'm done with him now.I'm for the football team first, last and forever!"
"And you're one of our best players!" exclaimed the young captainheartily, for he appreciated what it meant to break with Porter.
Football matters at Kentfield were now drawing to a close. There was butone more game to play--that of Blue Hill, but in the eyes of the cadetsit was the most important of the season because of what the outcomecarried with it. There was a tie for the championship between our hero'sfootball eleven and that of the academy which had sent the insultingletter that resulted in such a change of policy.
"Get ready for the last week of practice," ordered Coach Martin, on theMonday following the Mooretown game. "It's going to be hard, too, but Idon't want any one to over-train. Take it a bit easy when you findyourself tiring."
"Yes, we want you in the pink of perfection Saturday," added Mr.Spencer.
There followed days of the most careful preparation. It was like gettingready for the final great battle between two rival armies. Footballsuits were looked to, for a rip in a jacket or a sweater might spoil aplay at a critical point. The lads replaced the worn cleats on theirshoes, that they might brace themselves when the Blue Hill playershurled themselves at the Kentfield line.
As for their physical condition, the cadets were looked over by thetrainers and coaches as if they were race horses. Tender ankles werecarefully treated and bandaged. Sprains were rubbed in the mostscientific manner, and did any one complain of a little indispositionthe coaches were up in alarm.
And the boys were in the "pink of condition." Never had they felt finernor more able to do battle for the championship. Never were they moreconfident, for, somehow, Dick had talked them into the firm belief thatthey were going to win.
As for our hero, he had a worry that he kept to himself, and, now thathis father had returned to Hamilton Corners, the lad let it prey on hismind even more than he had when the millionaire was at the academy.
"Our fortune in danger," mused Dick. "That sure is tough luck. Not thatmoney is everything, or really much in this world. But, after you'vegotten used to having it, I guess it's hard to spin along without it.But perhaps it won't be so bad as dad fears. I would certainly hate togive up my steam yacht, and I may have to leave Kentfield. Whew! Thatwould pull a lot!" and he sat staring in moody silence at the walls ofhis tastefully decorated room.
There was a movement at Dick's feet and Grit half arose to poke his coldnose into his master's listless hand. The lad started.
"Grit, old boy!" he murmured and the animal whined in delight. "Whateverhappens they can't take you from me," went on the young millionaire."But there's Rex. Maybe I can't afford to keep a horse. Oh, but I'd hateto part with him!"
He could not keep back just a suspicion of tears from his eyes, as hestroked the short ears of the bulldog, who seemed to know that somethingwas amiss.
"Oh, well, what's the use of crying over spilled milk before you come tothe bridge!" Dick exclaimed at length. "I'm not going to worry untilit's time; and that isn't yet. Guess I'll go for a canter on Rex. Thatwill clear the cobwebs away."
He was soon galloping over the country, glad to be alone for a littlewhile to think over the problems that were bothering him. As the nobleanimal galloped along around the lake path, and Dick felt the coolNovember wind on his cheeks, somehow there came to him a feeling ofpeace.
"After all, it may come out right," he whispered as he patted the neckof the horse. "And I'm going to have one more try at Duncaster. I won'tundertake to see him. I'll write him a letter and explain some thingshe doesn't understand. Maybe it will just pull him the right way."
The thought was an inspiration to him, and he turned Rex about andgalloped to the stables.
"Well, what's all the correspondence about Dick?" asked Paul thatevening, as his chum was busily scratching away in their room. "Ithought you answered Miss Hanford's last letter yesterday."
"Humph! Seems to me you've been doing something in the way of writingletters yourself. But this is business. I'm making a last appeal toDuncaster."
Dick was not very hopeful as he mailed the epistle to Hardvale.
It was the day of the Blue Hill Game, and final practice, save for alittle "warm-up" on the gridiron, just before time should be called, hadbeen held. The coaches had issued their last instructions, Dick hadgiven his men a little talk, and all that could be done had been done.
"It's do or die now," grimly remarked the young captain. "We're fit tothe minute."
"Have you heard from Duncaster?" asked Paul.
"No, and I don't expect to. He'll keep the stock I expect, or trade itto the Porter crowd. It was a slim chance, but it didn't make good."
"Well," remarked Paul, a little later, when Dick had been nervouslypacing about the room. "I suppose we might as well go out on thegridiron."
"It's a bit early," objected Dick. "The Blue Hill crowd won't be herefor an hour yet."
There came a knock on the door, and Toots stood there saluting betweenthe strains of "Marching Through Georgia."
"Telegram for you, Mr. Hamilton--it came collect," announced thejanitor.
"Humph. Can't be from dad, he always pays his messages," remarked Dick,as he handed over the money, and tore open the envelope. When he hadread the few words he gave a gasp of astonishment.
"What's the matter?" asked Paul quickly. "Bad news."
"No. Good!" cried Dick. "Listen. This is from Mr. Duncaster--no wonderhe sent it collect. He says: 'Have your letter. I will grant yourrequest and sell you the stock. Come and
see me at once, as I am leavingfor Europe for my health. I go to-night.'"
"Then you'd better hustle out to Hardvale!" cried Paul. "Hurray! That'sgreat."
Slowly Dick crushed the telegram in his hand.
"I can't go," he said slowly.
"Why not?"
"I haven't time to go out there and get back to play the game--and--I'mgoing to play the game!"