CHAPTER XVII
The Long Gray Column
One small urchin there was, so small that he escaped notice as
he hung about hearing the word passed.
But that urchin was a Gridley boy who had raised the money to
come and see this game. The boy possessed the Gridley spirit.
As fast as his legs would carry him he raced to dressing quarters,
and there told what he had heard.
"Thank you, kid!" said Dick. "You're a good Gridley boy," and
then he continued:
"So that's the game, is it They're going to mob us, are they I
guess they can do it---but, fellows, keep in mind to pass some
of the blows back! When we go down in the dirt be sure that some
of the Fordham fellows have something to remember us by for many
a day! I'm glad Hazelton has already been sent forward in an
ambulance."
As Dick finished dressing and waited for the others, he saw one
of the subs dropping a spiked shoe into an outer jacket pocket.
"What's that for?" Dick demanded sternly. "A weapon?"
"Yes," sheepishly admitted the other.
"Put it in your bag, then, and let it go on the baggage wagon.
Fellows, we'll fight with nothing but fists, and only then if
we're attacked."
"But those scoundrels will probably use brickbats," argued the
fellow who had tried to drop the spiked shoe into his overcoat
pocket.
"No matter," rang Dick's voice, low but commanding. "If we have
to, we'll fight for our lives as we fought for the game---on the
square! Good citizens don't carry concealed weapons until called
upon by the authorities to do it.
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