A few days later the members of the school team, and the substitutes, had been announced.  Then the men who had made the team came together at the gymnasium.

Who was to be captain of the eleven?

For once there seemed to be a good deal of hanging back.

If there were any members of the team who believed themselves supremely fitted to lead, at least they were not egotistical enough to announce themselves.

There was a good deal of whispering during the five minutes before Mr. Morton called them to order.  Some of the whisperers left one group to go over to another.

“Now, then, gentlemen!” called Coach Morton.  “Order, please!”

Almost at once the murmuring stopped.

“Before we can go much further,” continued the coach, “it will be necessary to decide upon a captain.  I don’t wish to have the whole voice in the matter.  If you are to follow your captain through thick and thin, in a dozen or more pitched football battles, it is well that you should have a leader who will possess the confidence of all.  Now, whom do you propose for the post of captain?  Let us discuss the merits of those that may be proposed.”

Just for an instant the murmuring broke out afresh.

Then a shout went up: 

“Purcell!”

But that young man shook his head.

“Prescott!” shouted another.

Dick, too, shook his head.

“Purcell!  Purcell!”

“Now, listen to me a moment, fellows!” called Purcell, standing very straight and waving his arms for silence.  “I don’t want to be captain.  I had the honor of leading the baseball nine last season.”

“No matter!  You’ll make a good football captain!”

“Not the best you can get, by any means,” insisted Purcell.  “I decline the honor for that reason, and also because I don’t want the responsibility of leading the eleven.”

“Prescott!” shouted three or four of the squad at once.

Purcell nodded his head encouragingly.

“Yes; Prescott, by all means!  You can’t do better.”

“Yes, you can!  And you fellows know it!” shouted Dick.

His face glowed with pleasure and pride, but he tried to show, by face, voice and gesture, that he didn’t propose to take the tendered honor.

“Prescott!  Prescott!” came the insistent yell.

Above the clamor Coach Morton signaled Dick to come forward to the platform.

“Won’t you take it, Prescott?” inquired the coach.

“I’ve no right to, sir.”

“Then tell the team why you think so.”

As soon as coach had secured silence Dick, with a short laugh, began: 

“No, no!  We mean it!  Prescott for captain!  No other fellow has done as much for Gridley High School football!”

“Then I’ll tell you some reasons, fellows, why I don’t fit the position,” Dick went on, speaking easily now as his self-confidence came to him.  “In the first place, I’m a junior, and this is my first year at football.  Now, a captain should be a whole wagon-load in the way of judgment.  That means a fellow who has played in a previous season.  For that reason, all other things being equal, the captain should be one of the seniors who played the gridiron game last year.”

“You’ll do for us, Prescott!” came the insistent call.

“For another thing,” Dick went on composedly, “the captain should be a man who plays center, or close to it.  Now, I’m not heavy enough for anything of that sort.  In fact, I understand I’m cast for left tackle or left end –­probably the latter.  So, you see, I wouldn’t be in the right part of the field.  I don’t deny that I’d like to be captain, but I’d a thousand times rather see Gridley win.”

“Then who can lead us to victory” demanded Dave Darrin briskly.

Dick promptly.  “He’s believed to be our best man for center.  He played last year; he knows more fine points of the game than any of us juniors can.  And he has the judgment.  Besides, he’s a senior, and it’s his last chance to command the High School eleven.”

“If Wadleigh’ll take it, I’m for him,” spoke Dave Darrin promptly.

Henry Wadleigh, or “Hem,” as he was usually called, was turning all the colors of the rainbow.  Yet he looked pleased and anxious.

There was just one thing against Wadleigh, in the minds of Hudson and some of the others.  He was a boy of poor family.  He belonged to what the late but routed “soreheads” termed “the mockers.”  But he was an earnest, honest fellow, a hard player and loyal to the death to his school.

“Any other candidates?” asked Coach Morton.

There was a pause of indecision.  There were a few other fellows who wanted to captain the team.  Why didn’t some of their friends put them in nomination?

Dick & Co. formed a substantial element in the team.  They were for “Hen” Wadleigh, and now Tom Reade spoke: 

“I move that Wadleigh be considered our choice for captain.”

“Second the motion,” uttered Dan Dalzell, hastily.

Coach Morton put the proposition, which was carried.  Wadleigh was chosen captain, subject to the approval of the Athletics Committee of the alumni, which would talk it over in secret with Coach Morton.

And now the team was quickly made up.  Wadleigh was to play center.  Dick was to play left end, with Dave for left tackle.  Greg Holmes went over to right tackle, with Hazelton right guard.  Dan Dalzell was slated as substitute right end, while Tom Reade was a “sub” left tackle.

Fred Ripley was put down as a substitute for left end.  As one who kept in such close training as did Prescott he was not likely to miss many of the big games, and Fred’s chances for playing in the big games was not heavy.  Yet Ripley was satisfied.  Even as a “sub,” he had “made” the High School eleven.

“I think, gentlemen,” declared Mr. Morton, in dismissing the squad, “that we have as good a team to put forward this year as Gridley has ever had.  The only disquieting feature of the season is the report, coming to us, that many of the rival schools have, this year, better teams in the field than they have ever had before.  So we’ve got to work –­well like so many animated furies.  Remember, gentlemen, ‘coldfeet’ never won a football season.”

Bayliss and Dodge when they heard the news, were much disgusted.  They had hoped that subs.  Instead, Dick and three of his cronies had been put in Gridley’s first fighting line, only two of the redoubtable six being on the sub list.

School and second teams, being now sharply defined, fell to playing against each other as hard and as cleverly as they could.

Wadleigh’s choice as captain was confirmed by the Athletics Committee.

“But I’d never have had the chance, Prescott, old fellow, if it hadn’t been for you,” “Hen” protested gratefully.  “Dick, I won’t forget your great help!”

“I didn’t do anything for you, Hen,” Prescott retorted, with one of his dry smiles.

“You didn’t?” gasped Wadleigh.

“No, sir!  I did it for the school.  I wanted to see our team have the best possible captain and the winning eleven!”

Bert and Bayliss happened to be passing the gymnasium when they heard of the selection of Wadleigh.

“Bert,” whispered Bayliss, “I believe you’re at least half a man!”

“What are you driving at?” demanded Dodge.

“We owe Dick Prescott a few.  If you’re with me we’ll see if his season on the gridiron can’t be made a farce and a fizzle.”