“Glee!” chuckled Len.  “Wouldn’t the whole town—–­including the Board members—–­wake up, if they only knew that the whole thing was planned out by a fourteen-year-old freshie, by name Dick Prescott!”

“You won’t let it out, Len, that I had any hand in it?” asked Dick, quickly.

“Oh, not I,” promised Len, quickly.  “I gave you my word on that, son, didn’t I?”

“Now, see here,” Dick went on, “why can’t you push this thing along one day further?  Why don’t you interview a lot of the prominent business men on the absolute necessity of football for keeping up the H.S. spirit and traditions?”

“Good idea as far as it goes,” assented Len, dubiously.  “But a lot of the business men might prove to be fossilized, and be against the grand old game.”

“Leave that sort out,” hinted Dick, sagely, “and go after the right kind.”

“How’ll I know the right kind?” asked reporter Spencer, thoughtfully.

“Why, use your head a bit.  There’s Beck.  He’s a millionaire, and one of the big men of the town, isn’t he?”

“Yes; but he may not believe in football.”

“Shucks!  Of course Beck believes in football,” retorted Dick.  “Doesn’t his lumber yard furnish all the wooden goods that are needed for fences, seats, and all that sort of thing up at the athletic grounds?  Doesn’t Beck know that, if he said a word against football, he never get another order for lumber from the H.S.  Alumni association.  Then there’s Carleson.  He’s one of the directors of the railroad, therefore a big enough man to interview.”

“Where does Carleson come in on hot interest in football?”

“Use your head,” jibed Dick.  “Doesn’t his railroad have lots of jobs transporting the football teams to other games, and bringing other teams here?  Don’t mobs of fans follow the teams and pay fare?  Why, H.S. football is a dividend-payer to Carleson.  Your own editor, Pollock, will come out for us.  Besides the news football makes for ‘The Blade,’ just think of the profit from doing all the poster and ticket printing for us.  Then there’s Henley, who sells the team uniforms and other athletic goods and he’s one of the aldermen!  Why, man alive, there are a score of big men in town who can’t afford to see H.S. football stopped.  Here are some of their names-----”

Dick rattled it along, giving a long list to Len Spencer, who jotted down the names.

“Thank you; old man,” said the reporter, cordially.  “I’ll get these interviews, and it’ll make a corking good second-day story.  Pollock says I can push this as far as I like, for it has struck a popular vein.  But Pollock says he wouldn’t have thought of it, Dick, if you hadn’t set the ball rolling.”

“Then he knows the big part that my chums and I took in the game?” asked Dick, his face showing his concern.

“Yes; but don’t worry.  Old Pollock is as mum as the grave about such things.  Now, so long, Dick, old fellow.  I’ve got to run down to the end of this alley to call on a sick friend.  Then I’ll hustle out and get a barrelful of interviews that will cinch and rivet football on Gridley H.S. for a century to come!”