And now they waited, enthusiasm finding vent in volleys of cheers and the school war-whoop.

Dick Prescott and his chums stood at one end of the platform.  Nor were they alone.  Many admirers had gathered about them.  Laura Bentley and Belle Meade, who were going with the rest to Tottenville, were chatting with Dick and Dave.  Each of the girls carried the Gridley High School colors to wave during the expected triumphs of the afternoon.

“I’m glad you’re playing today,” Laura almost whispered to young Prescott.

“Why?” smiled Dick

“Why, I believe you’re one of those fortunate people who always carry their mascot with them,” rejoined Miss Bentley earnestly.  “With you there, Dick, I feel absolutely certain that even Tottenville must go down in the dust.  Gridley will bring back the score—–­and not a tied score, either.”

“I certainly hope I am as big a mascot, or possess as big a mascot as you seem to believe,” laughed young Prescott.

“You and Dave are each other’s mascots,” declared Belle Meade, with a laugh.  “I remember that last year when you were both on the baseball nine Gridley never lost a game in which you and Dave both played.”

“Nor did the nine lose any other game,” returned Dick, “though there were some games when Dave and I weren’t on the batting list.  The nine didn’t lose a game last season, Miss Belle, and had only one tied score.”

“Anyway,” declared Laura, with great conviction, “it all comes back to this—–­that Gridley can’t lose today because both Prescott and Darrin are to play.”

“And I believe, young ladies, that you’re both much nearer to the truth than you have any idea of.  In today’s game a great deal does depend on Prescott and Darrin.”

It was Captain “Hen” Wadleigh, who, passing to the rear of the group, had overheard Laura’s remark, and had made this addition to her prophecies.

“Here comes the train!” yelled one youth, who was fortunate enough to have a ticket for the day.

Soon after the sound of the whistle had been heard the express rolled in.  But this was the first section of the regular train.  By some effort the football crowd was kept off the train.  Soon after the second section of the train was sighted as it rolled toward the station.

“Team assemble!” roared Captain Wadleigh.

There was a rush of husky, mop-headed youths in his direction.

Just then a hand rested on Dick’s arm.

“Let me speak with you, just a moment Prescott.”

As Dick turned he found himself looking into the face of Hemingway, plan clothes man to Chief Coy of the Police department.

“I’m awful sorry, lad, but-----” began Hemingway slowly, in a
tone of the most genuine regret.

Dick’s face blanched.  He scented bad news instantly, though he could not imagine what it was.

“Anyone sick—–­any accident at home?” asked the young left end.