ou about that at the next recitation. Mr.
Prescott," nodded the submaster.

"Ye-es, sir. I hope you'll have luck," Dick answered, absently.

"What's that?" rapped out Mr. Morton.

Dick, aroused, was on his feet again, like a flash.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Morton," he came out straightforwardly.
"That sounded like slang, or disrespect. I beg to assure you,
sir, that neither was intended. The truth is-----"

"Your mind is busy with other things this morning, I see," smiled
the sub-master.

"Ye-es, sir." Dick dropped once more into his seat. Ralph Morton
sighed. That very popular young submaster, only three years out
of college, was the hugely admired coach who had led the Gridley
eleven to victory during the last three seasons. He was as disturbed
as anyone could have been over the rumored intention of the Board
of Education to take some unpleasant action regarding High School
athletics.

It was a terribly unsatisfactory hour in IV. English. Five minutes
before the period was up Mr. Morton dejectedly closed the text-book
from which he had been questioning, and remarked, tersely:

"At ease!"

Instantly the buzz of whispering broke forth. It was required
only that not enough noise be made to disturb the students in
adjoining rooms.

Dick, Tom and Dan sat in the front row. Directly behind them
were the other three members of the "Co."

"Say," muttered Dan, in a low undertone, "Mr. Morton looks half
glum and half savage this morning, like the rest of us."

"Seems to," muttered Tom Reade.

"What do you make of _that_?" challenged Dan.

"There must be strong foundation for the little hint Dr. Thornton
let fall this morning," guessed Dave Darrin.

"And Mr. Morton knows it's a straight tip," added Harry Hazelton,
sagely.

"It'll be a confounded shame, if the Board does anything like
that," glowed Dick Prescott, indignantly.

"They'll be so many dead ones, if they _do_," flared Tom Reade,
hotly.

"Yes," agreed Dave Darrin. "But the worst about that Board of
Education is that, though they _are_ dead ones, they're so very
dead that they'll never find it out."

"Won't they, thought" whispered Dan Dalzell, hotly. "Say, I'm
inclined to think they will! I-----"

"Dan!" whispered Dick, warningly.

"Yep; you've guessed right," grinned Dan. "I am hatching a scheme
in my mind. I'm getting up something that will bring even that
dummified Board to its senses."

"Then you can achieve the impossi