“What do you think of that, as expounding the law of football?” smiled coach, looking down over Dave Darrin’s shoulder.

“It doesn’t take long to read, Mr. Morton And it ought not to take long to memorize these fourteen rules.  But to live them, through and through, and up and down—–­that’s going to take a lot of thought and attention.”

To the four ex-"soreheads” not a word had been said about the late unpleasantness, nor was this quartette any longer in Coventry.

Trenholm, Grayson, Drayne and Hudson were the four best football men of the Bayliss-Dodge faction.  Now that they were to play with the High School eleven all concerned felt wholly relieved.

As the young men were leaving the gym. that afternoon Coach Morton found a chance to grip Dick’s arm and to whisper lightly in his ear: 

“Thank you, Prescott.”

“For what, Mr. Morton.”

“Why, for what you managed to do to hold the school eleven together.  That was clever newspaper work, Prescott.  And it has helped the school a lot.  I’m no longer uneasy about Gridley High School on the gridiron for this season.  We’ll have a team now!”

With a confident nod the coach strolled away.

As the gym. doors were thrown open the members of the new football squad rushed out with joyous whoops.  Some of the more mischievous or spirited actually tackled unsuspicious comrades, toppling their victims over to the ground.  That line of tactics resulted in many a “chase” that brought out some remarkably good sprinting talent.  Thus the squad dissipated itself like the mist, and soon the grounds near the school were deserted.

Bayliss and Bert Dodge went away to nurse a grievance that nothing seemed to cure.

For these two, now that their strong line of resistance had been broken, found themselves secretly longing, as had the four deserters, for a place in the football squad.

Bert Dodge sulked along to school, alone that Friday morning.  Bayliss, however, after a night of wakefulness, had decided to “eat crow.”

So, as Dick, Dave and Greg Holmes were strolling along schoolward, Bayliss overhauled them.

“Good morning, fellows,” he called, briskly, with an offhand attempt at geniality.

All three of the chums looked up at him, then glanced away again.

“Oh, I say, now, don’t keep it up,” coaxed Bayliss.  “We High School fellows all want to be decent enough friends.  And how’s the football?  I don’t suppose the squad is full yet.  I—–­I half believe I may join and take a little practice.”

“Thinking of it?” asked Dick, looking up coolly.

“Yes—–­really,” replied Bayliss.

“See the coach, then; he’s running the squad.”

“Yes; I guess I will, thanks.  Good morning!”

Bayliss sauntered along, blithely whistling a tune.  He knew Coach Morton would give him the glad hand of welcome for the squad and the team.