As Len Spencer vanished through one of the doorways Dick Prescott turned toward the street.  As he did so, he jumped back.

“We want you, freshie!” declared Frank Thompson, grimly.  “And we want you badly.”

Badger and Butler, who were just behind the speaker, closed in firmly around the freshman.

“We heard, and we didn’t feel ashamed to listen,” declared Thompson.  “So you’re the genius that has been doing giant’s work for football?  You are under arrest, freshie—–­and I hope you’ll come along without making any row.”

Despite the severity of the looks in the faces of these three seniors, Dick Prescott did not feel very uneasy.  He submitted to walking between Thompson and Butler, while Ben Badger brought up the rear.  The unafraid prisoner was marched along and into another street, to where the football eleven had its “club room.”  This was an unoccupied store, the agent of which allowed the boys the use of the place, rent free, as long as it remained idle.

When near this headquarters Ben Badger darted ahead, throwing open the door, while Frank and Ted marched in with their prisoner.

“Attention!” roared Ben.

Nearly all the members and substitutes of the eleven were present.  They were sorting over various bits of football paraphernalia.  Several of them stopped work to look up as Ben Badger slammed the door shut again.

“Well, what are you making so much noise about?” demanded one of the second classmen.  “You come in with a roar, and all you bring with you is—–­just a poor, insignificant little freshie.”

“Oh, but what a freshman!” thundered Frank Thompson.  “Listen, fellows, what do you suppose this freshman has done?”

“Lynch him for it, anyway, whatever it is,” retorted another.

“Wait!” commanded Thompson.  “And listen.”

There upon Frank detailed what he and his two comrades had overheard at the head of the alleyway.  Instantly the complexion of things changed.  There were cheers and hoarse yells, as the football men rushed forward, crowding about Dick Prescott.

“Now I’ve told all that I heard,” wound up Thompson.  “We’ll have to ask Mr. Prescott to favor us with the further details, which I trust he will be inclined to do.”

“Mr. Prescott!” That, instead of “cub,” “kid” or “freshie.”  Had the enthusiasm been less intense Dick would have been sure that they were having fun with him.

“Go on,” ordered Ben Badger briefly.  “Talk up!”

To have refused plain orders from a first classman might have been serious.  Dick knew better.  Clearing his throat he related all he could recall of how the plot came to be hatched.  Nor was Dick glory-hunter enough to give himself any more credit than he did his partners.  In his brief account the freshman spread all the credit for the invention equally over the six members of Dick & Co.

“’Twas a great thought, and carried out like a campaign,” declared Ben Badger.  There was more cheering.  Then Frank Thompson dragged Dick forward once more before the lined-up team.