“That wouldn’t be enough to keep him out of football,” remarked Dave quietly.

Dick looked up suddenly from his list.

“Fellows,” he announced, “I’ve made one discovery.”

“Out with it!” ordered Dan.

“Perhaps you can guess for yourselves what I have just found.”

“We can’t,” admitted Hazelton meekly.  “Please tell us, and save us racking our brains.”

“Well, it’s curious,” continued Dick slowly, “but every one of these fellows—–­I believe you’ve given me all the names of the ‘soreheads’”

“We have,” affirmed Tom Reade.

“Well, I’ve just noted that every fellow on my sorehead roll of honor belongs to one of our families of wealth in Gridley.”

Dick paused to look around him, to see how the announcement impressed his chums.

“Do you mean,” hinted Hazelton, “that the soreheads are down on football because they prefer automobiles?”

“No.”  Dick Prescott shook his head emphatically.

“By Jove, Dick, I believe you’re right,” suddenly exclaimed Dave Darrin.

“So you see my point, old fellow?”

“I’m sure I do.”

“I’m going to get examined for spectacles, then,” sighed Dan plaintively.  “I can’t see a thing.”

“Why, you ninny,” retorted Dave scornfully, “the football ‘soreheads’ have been developing that classy feeling.  They wear better clothes than we do, and have more pocket money.  Many of their fathers don’t work for a living.  In other words, the fellows on Dick’s list belong to what they consider a privileged and aristocratic set.  They’re the Gridley bluebloods—–­or think they are—–­and they don’t intend to play on any football eleven that is likely to have Dick & Co. and a few other ordinary muckers on it.”

“Muckers?” repeated Harry Hazelton flaring up.

“Cool down, dear chap, do!” urged Darrin, soothingly.  “I don’t mean to imply that we really are muckers, but that’s what some of the classy group evidently consider us.”

“Why, they say that Cassleigh’s grandfather was an Italian immigrant, who spelled his name Casselli,” broke in Dan Dalzell.

“I believe it, son,” nodded Dave.  “Old Casselli was an immigrant and an honest fellow.  But he had the bad judgment to make some money in the junk business, and sent his son to college.  The son, after the old immigrant died, took to spelling his name Cassleigh, and the grandson is the prize snob of the town.”

“And Bayliss’s father was indicted by the grand jury, seven or eight years ago, for bribery in connection with a trolley franchise,” muttered Greg Holmes.

“Also currently reported to be true, my infant,” nodded Dave sagely.  “But the witnesses against the elder Bayliss skipped, and the district attorney never brought the case to trial.  Case was quashed a year later, and so now the Baylisses belong to the Distinguished Order of Unconvicted Boodlers.  That trolley stock jumped to six times its par value right after the case against Bayliss was dropped, you know.”