"All right then Mr. Morton," he replied huskily. "I'll do my
best on a small showing, and take what comes to me."
Yet, as he walked slowly over to join the tacklers around the
swinging figure, the hot blood came again to young Drayne's face.
"I'll make this year a year of sorrow Gridley!" he quivered indignantly.
"I'll hang on, and make believe I'm meek as a lamb, but I'll
spoil Gridley's record for this year! There was in olden times
a chap who had a famous knack for getting square with people who
used him the wrong way. I wish I could remember his name at this
moment."
Drayne couldn't recall the name at the time, but another name
that might have served Drayne to remember at this instant was---
Benedict Arnold.
CHAPTER II
A Hint from the Girls
There had been nothing rapid in Dick Prescott's elevation to the
captaincy of the eleven.
Back in the grammar school he had started his apprenticeship in
athletics. During his freshman year in High School he had kept
up his training. In his sophomore year he had trained hard for
and had won honors in the baseball nine. In his junior year,
after harder training that ever, he had performed a season's brilliant
work, playing left end in all the biggest games of the season.
So now, in his senior and last year at Gridley High School he
had come by degrees to the most envied of all possible positions
in school athletics.
The election to the football captaincy had not been sought by
Dick.
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