When recess broke, Dick & Co. quickly got together.  By twos, Dick and Dave Darrin leading, they marched down through one of the side streets, it being permitted to High School pupils to go outside the yard in the near neighborhood.

Presently Dick halted before a stone wall.  He eyed Dan keenly, who had been walking just behind with Harry Hazelton.

“Dan,” demanded the leader, “you gave us to understand that your mind is seething again.  Is that true?”

“Quite true,” Dan averred, solemnly.

“What particular kind of cerebration is oscillating inside of your intelligence?” Dick queried.

“Which?” demanded Dan, suspiciously.  “No, I never!  I’m not that kind of fellow.”

“In plain, freshman English, then, what’s your scheme?”

“We’ll have to get statistics,” announced Dalzell, “before I can come right down to bare facts.  When does the Board of Education, otherwise known as the Grannies’ Club, meet?”

“Tonight, in the Board Room in the High School building,” Dick answered.

“How many members are there?”

“Seven,” Dick affirmed.

“That’s not too many, then,” continued Dan, thoughtfully.

“Not too many?” repeated Dick Prescott.  “What do you mean?”

“Why, I’ve been refreshing my general information about this town by consulting the city directory.  From that valuable tome I discovered that there are just nine undertakers in town.”

“Now, what on earth are you driving at—–­or driveling at?” asked Dick Prescott, suspiciously, while the other partners remained wonderingly, eagerly silent.

“Why,” pursued Dan, “we can summon seven of the undertakers for our job, and still leave two available for the public service.”

Dick sprang up from the stone wall, tightly gripping Dan Dalzell by the coat collar.

“Help me watch this lunatic, fellows,” urged Dick, quietly.  “He’s dangerous.  You’ve heard him!  He’s plotting assassination!”

“Undertakers don’t assassinate anyone, do they?” queried Dan, with an air of mock innocence.

“What are you plotting, then?” insisted Dick.

Dan’s face broadened into a very pronounced grin.

“Why, see here, fellows, there seems to be some fire behind Dr. Thornton’s smoke that the Board of Education may get excited over low recitation marks, and actually—–­stop football!” finished Dalzell, in a gasp.

The other five chums snorted.  Dan Dalzell was presently able to control his feelings sufficiently to proceed: 

“No one but actually dead ones would expect an American institution of the higher learning to exist in these days without football.  Hence, if the Grannies’ Club—–­I mean the School Board—–­are planning to stop football, or even believe that it is possible, then they’re sure enough dead ones.  Am I right?”

“Right and sane, after all,” nodded Dick.