“Therefore,” pursued Dan, “if the board members are dead ones, why not go ahead and bury them?  Or, at the least, show our kindly interest in that direction.  See here, fellows”—–­here Dan lowered his voice to the faintest sort of whisper, while the other partners gathered close about him—–­“tonight we fellows can scatter over the town, and drop into different telephone booths where we’re not known.  We can call up seven different undertakers, convey to them a hint that there’s a dead one at the Board Room, and state that the victim of our call is wanted there at once.

“What good would that do?” demanded Dick, after a thoughtful pause.

“Why,” proposed Dan Dalzell, “if seven undertakers call, all within five minutes, won’t it be a delicate way of conveying the hint that a Board of Education that thinks it can stop football is composed of dead ones?  You see, there’ll be an undertaker for each member of the Board.  Don’t you think the idea—–­the hint—–­would soak through even those seven dull old heads?”

Tom, Harry and Dave began to chuckle, though they looked puzzled.

“Well, if you ask me,” decided Dick, after more thought, “I have just one answer.  The scheme is too grisly.  Besides, we’ve nothing against the undertakers that should make us willing to waste their time.  Moreover, Dan we’re in the High School, and we’re expected to be gentlemen.  Now, does your scheme strike you as just the prank for a lot of gentlemen.”

“Say, don’t look the thing over too closely,” protested Dan, more soberly, “or you’ll find lots of bad holes in the scheme.  Yet, somehow, we’ve got to bring it to the attention of the Board that, if they go against High School football, they’re real dead ones.”

“I’ve just an idea we can do that,” spoke Dick Prescott, reflectively.  “We can rig the scheme over, so as to save seven estimable business men from starting out on fools’ errands.  And we can drive the lesson home to the Board just as hard—–­perhaps harder.”

At these hopeful words from the chief the partners pricked up their ears, then crowded closer.

“In the first place,” began Dick, “Dan’s scheme—–­beg your pardon, old fellow—–­is clumsy, grisly and likely to come back as a club to hit us over the head.  Now, you all know Len Spencer, the ‘Morning Blade’ reporter.  He’s a regular ‘fan’ over the football and baseball teams, and follows them everywhere in the seasons.  You also know that Len is a pretty good friend of mine.  If I put Len up to a scheme that will furnish him with good ‘copy’ for two mornings, he’ll put it through for me, and be as mum as an oyster.”

“How can Len help us in anything?” demanded Dave Darrin, wonderingly.

“Listen!” ordered Dick Prescott, with a twinkle in his eyes.

When Dick & Co. hurried back at the close of recess they felt serene and content.  All the partners felt that Dick Prescott, the most fertile boy in ideas at the Central Grammar School, was going to be able to save the day for football.  For Dick had propounded a scheme that was sure to work—–­barring accidents!