n of other pranks in which she
had known her son to be engaged in the grammar school days, Mrs.
Prescott shot a sudden, wondering glance at him. But Dick, looking
utterly innocent, was chewing his food.

Frank Thompson, Ben Badger and Ted Butler, all seniors, and stars
on the H.S. football team, had risen early that morning, every
one of them feeling glum over the dread that the great sport might
be "killed" for them. They were the only members of the eleven
who happened to see "The Blade" early. In consequence, these
three husky young Americans were on the street early. Just as
naturally they ran into each other.

"Whoop!" yelled Thompson, when he came in sight of his pals.

"Wow!" observed Ben.

"And some more!" glowed Butler.

"Will they stop football _now_?" demanded Thompson.

"Not while anyone is looking," averred Butler.

"But say, it was great of the Business Men's Club to make such
a stroke for us," went on Badger, enthusiastically.

"Yes," admitted Frank Thompson, "if that was where it came from.
I guess it was, all right."

Arm in arm the three went off down the street, feeling as though
the world had turned right side up once more.

Dick met his partners on the way to the High School. All were
grinning quietly.

"You're the genius, Dick," admitted Dan Dalzell, cordially. "My
undertaker scheme would have been ghastly. It would have taken
all the edge off the joke---would have spoiled it, and the joke
would have been a club that would have hit us over the head.
But, say! I wonder if the Grannies' Club will dare to touch our
sacred football now!"

"Don't waste any time wondering," chuckled Tom Reade. "They wont."

It was a happy day in the famous old Gridley High School. Actually,
the recitations went off better than they had done on any day
since term opening.

Dick Prescott was out on the street rather early that afternoon.
He wanted to run across Len Spencer, and chose Main Street as
the most likely thoroughfare for the purpose. He met the reporter
at the head of a little alleyway.

"Well, Dick, how did you like it?" was the reporter's greeting.

"Say, it was great!" Dick bubbled over.

"What do they think down at H.S.?"

"Think?" repeated young Prescott. "Why, everybody is in ecstasies.
The gloom of yesterday has vanished like the mist from a cheap
cigar. You're suspected of writing the article, too, Len. If
the High School students can find any proof that you did you'