lved."

Drayne moved away, a half-sneer on his face.

"I don't like that young man," muttered Mr. Morton confidentially
to the young captain of the team.

"I have no violent personal admiration for him," Prescott answered.

Then the bell sounded, calling all the boys and girls back to
their studies.

At just about the hour of noon, a young caller strode into the
yard, paused an instant, studying the different entrances of the
High School building, then kept straight on and entered.

"A visitor for Mr. Prescott, in the reception, room," announced
the teacher in charge of the assembly room.

Bowing his thanks, Dick passed out of the room, crossed the hall,
entered a small room, and turned to greet his caller.

A fine-looking, broad-shouldered, bronzed young man of nineteen
rose and came forward, holding out his hand.

"Do you remember me, Mr. Prescott?" asked the caller heartily.

"I've played football against you, somewhere," replied Dick, studying
the other's face closely.

"Yes, I guess you have," laughed the other. "I played with Tottenville
last year. I'm captain this season. Jarvis is my name."

"Oh, I'm downright glad to see you, Mr. Jarvis," Dick went on.
"Be seated, won't you?"

"Yes; if you wish. Though I've half a notion that what I have
to say may bring you jumping out of your seat in a moment."

"Anything happened that you want to postpone the game?" inquired
Prescott, taking a chair opposite his caller.

"No; we're ready for Saturday, and will give you the stiffest
fight that is in us," returned Jarvis. "But see here, Mr. Prescott,
I'll come direct to the point. Is 'thirty-eight, nine, eleven,
four' your team's signal for a play around the left end, after
quarter has passed the ball to tackle and he to the end?"

Dick started, despite himself, for that was truly the signal for
that play.

"Really Mr. Jarvis, you don't expect me to tell you our signals!"
laughed Dick, pretending to be unconcerned.

But Jarvis called off another signal and interpreted it.

"From your face I begin to feel sure that I'm reeling off the
right signals," pursued the Tottenville youth. "Now, I'll get
still closer to the point, Mr. Prescott."

From an inside pocket Jarvis drew forth four typewritten pages,
clamped together and neatly folded.

"Run your eye over these pages, Mr. Prescott, or as far as you
want to go."

As Dick read down the pages every vestige of color faded from
his face.

Here