“Only a team of fools would hope to stop Gridley High School this year.”

Thus stated the Elliston “Tribune” after Gridley had walked through Elliston High School, one of the strongest school teams of the state, by a score of eight to nothing.

That copy of “The Tribune” found its way over to Gridley, and fell into the hands of some of the High School boys.

“Be careful, young men,” warned Mr. Morton.  “Don’t get it too seriously into your heads that you can’t be beaten, or your downfall will date from that hour.  The true idea is not that on can’t be beaten, but that you won’t.  Stick to the latter idea as well as you do to your training, and it will be a good eleven, indeed, that can get a game away from you.”

“Only two more to play this year, anyway,” replied Hudson.  “We can’t lose much.”

“The team might lose two, and that would a worse record than any Gridley eleven has made in five years,” retorted Mr. Morton dryly.

“We won’t lose ’em, though,” rejoined Tom Reade.  “Every fellow in the squad is in a conspiracy to pull the eleven through the next two games –­by its hair, if necessary.”

“That line of thought is better than conceit,” smiled the coach.

The game with Paunceboro High School came off, one of the most stubbornly fought battles that Gridley had ever entered.  It seemed impossible to score against this enemy.

Again and again Dick broke around the left end in a spirited dash, or Dan Dalzell made one of his swift sorties at right end.  Then, by the time that Paunceboro had grown used to end dashes, Gridley would make a smashing charge at center.

All these styles of attack, however, Paunceboro met smilingly.  In the first half there was no score.

Yet Paunceboro did not succeed any better in getting through or around Gridley’s line of flexible human steel.  Until within ten minutes before the close of the second half, it looked like a tie between giants of the school gridiron.

Then, by a series of feints in which Prescott, Darrin, Drayne and Hudson bore off the most brilliant honors, although all under Wadleigh’s planning, Paunceboro was sorely pressed down against its own goal line.

Just in the nick of time Paunceboro made a safety, and thus sent the ball back up the field.  But it cost Paunceboro two reluctantly-given points, and that was the score –­two to nothing.

Gridley was still victor in every game so far played in the season.  November was now far along, and there remained only the great Thanksgiving Day game.  This contest, against Filmore High School, was to be fought out on the Gridley field.

“Your football season will soon be over, Dick,” remarked Laura Bentley, one afternoon when Prescott and Darrin, on their way back from coach’s gridiron grilling, met Laura and Belle on Main Street.

“This season will soon be over,” replied Dick “but I hope for another next year.”

“And then, perhaps, at college?” hinted Belle.

“If we go to college,” replied Dick slowly.

“Why?  Don’t you expect to?” asked Laura, in some surprise.

“We are not sure,” murmured Dick, “that we want to go to college.”

“Why, I thought both of you were ambitious for higher education,” cried Belle.

“So we are,” nodded Dave.

“Oh!  Then, if not to college, you are going to some scientific school?” guessed Laura.

“I wonder if you two could keep a secret?” laughed Dick teasingly.

“Try us!” challenged Belle Meade.

Dick glanced at Dave, who gave a barely perceptible nod.

“No; we won’t try you,” retorted Dick “We’ll trust you, without any promise on your part.”

“Good!” cried Laura, in a gratified tone.

“Well?” inquired Belle, as neither boy spoke.

“It’s just here, then,” Prescott went on, in a low tone, after glancing around to make sure that no one else was within hearing.  “The Congressman from this district, in a year or so more, will have the filling of a vacancy at West Point.  That means a cadetship from this district.  Now, a Congressman can appoint a cadet as a matter of favoritism, or to pay a political debt to some relative of the boy he so appoints.  But the custom, in this district, has always been for the Congressman to appoint the boy who comes out best in a competitive examination.  The examination is thrown open to all boys, of proper age, who can first pass a good physical examination.”

“So you’re both going to try for it?” asked Belle quickly.

“No,” retorted Dave very quickly.  “That would make us rivals.  Dick and I don’t want to be rivals.”

“Then where do you come in?” asked Belle, glancing curiously at Darrin.

“Whisper!” replied Dave, looking mischievously mysterious.  After a pause he continued, almost in a whisper: 

“At just about the same time there will be a vacancy at Annapolis.  So while Dick is trying to get a job carrying the banner for the Army, it will be little David trying for a chance to be a second Farragut in the Navy.”

Dick winced at his chum’s rather slighting allusion to an Army career, but on this one point of preference in the way of the service, the two chums were willing to disagree.  Darrin wouldn’t have gone to West Point if he could.  Dick admitted the greatness of the American Navy, but all his heart was set on the Army.

“Both of you boys, then, are planning to give up your lives to the Flag?” exclaimed Laura.

“Yes,” nodded Dick; “do you think it’s foolish?”

“I think it’s glorious!” breathed Laura.

“So do I,” agreed Belle heartily; “though, like Dave, I should think the Navy would be the more attractive.”

“Oh, the Navy is all right,” gibed Dick.  “It would never suit me, though.  You see, a fellow in the Navy has nothing to do but ride into a fight on board a first-class ship.  It’s too much like being a Cook’s tourist war time.  Now, any Army officer, or a private soldier, for that matter, has to depend upon his own physical exertions to get him into the fight.”

“And an Army fellow,” twitted Dave, “if he finds the fight too hard for him, can always dig a hole and hide in it.  But where can a naval officer hide?”

“Oh, he has it easy enough, anyway, hiding behind armor plate,” scoffed Dick.

“Of one thing I feel certain, anyway,” said Laura thoughtfully.  “You are both of you cut out for the military life.  Under the most fearful conditions I don’t believe either one of you would ever show the white feather.”

“I don’t know,” replied Dick gravely.  “Neither one of us has ever been tested sufficiently.  But I hope you’re right, Laura.  I’d sooner be dead, at this instant, than to feel that my cowardice would ever throw the slightest stain on the grand old Flag.  I try to be generous in my opinions of others.  I think I can stand almost any man except –­the coward!”

“I’m not a bit afraid of either one of you, on that score,” broke in Belle warmly.

“That’s very kind of you,” nodded Dave.  “But of course you don’t know any more about our bravery than we do ourselves.  It has never been proven.”

“How many young men have been killed in football this year?” asked Laura quietly.

“I think the paper stated, the other day, that it was something more than forty,” replied Dick.

“Well, don’t you two play football,” demanded Laura.  “Don’t you both jump into the crush as fearlessly as anyone, Doesn’t it take about as much nerve to play fast and furious football as it does to fight on the battlefields Isn’t football, in its hardest form, a great training for the soldiers”

“Oh, perhaps,” laughed Dick.  “For that matter, Laura, I believe you could soon talk me into believing that I’m braver than good old Phil Sheridan!”

“Where’s the crowd rushing!” demanded Belle, in the same breath.

“There’s some trouble down the street!” cried Darrin.  “And smoke, too.”

“It’s a fire!” cried Dick, wheeling about.  “Come along –­all!”

As the girls started to scurry down the street Dick caught Laura’s nearer arm to aid her.  Dave did as much for Belle.

These four young people were among the first hundred and fifty to gather on the sidewalk before a store and office building that was on fire.

It was a five story building.  Fire had started in back on the second floor.  Originating in offices empty at the time, the blaze had gained good headway ere it was discovered.  It had eaten up to the third and fourth floors, and was now sweeping frontward.  On the third floor the heat had cracked the window glass, and the air, rushing in, had fanned up a brisk blaze.  Flames were beginning to shoot out their fiery tongues through these third story windows.

“Is everyone out of that building?” demanded the policeman on the beat, rushing up.  He had just learned that a citizen had gone to ring in the fire alarm, so now the policeman’s next thought was directed toward life saving.

There was a quick count of those who had been in the offices on the upper floors.

On the fourth floor one suite of offices had been occupied as a china painting school.  Miss Trent, the teacher, who had reached the sidewalk safely, now looked about her anxiously.

“I had only one pupil up there, Miss Grace Dodge,” replied Miss Trent, hurriedly.  “I called to her and then ran.  Miss Dodge started after me, then rushed back to get her purse, palette and color case.”

“Has anyone seen Miss Dodge?” demanded the policeman.

No one had.

“Then I’ll get up there, if I can,” muttered the officer.

Dropping belt and club to the sidewalk, and pulling his helmet down tight on his head, the policeman darted into the building and up the stairs.

At that moment, above the smoke and flames pouring out of the third story windows, Grace Dodge appeared at one of the windows on the fourth floor.  She was hatless, and a streak of blood appeared over her left temple.

“Don’t jump!” shouted several men loudly.  “A policeman has just started up to get you.”

Miss Dodge appeared somewhat dazed; it was a question whether she understood.  But her face disappeared from the window way.  To many of the horrified ones below, it appeared as though the imperiled girl had swayed dizzily away from the window, as though overcome by the heat and fumes from the windows below her.

“Where is the fire department?  Is it never coming?” wailed one woman in the throng, wringing her hands.

No one here knew that the citizen who had rushed to send in the alarm had found the first box out of order.  He was now rushing to another alarm box.

Out of the hallway came the policeman, white-faced and tottering weakly.

“I –­I couldn’t get up much above the second floor,” he gasped, in a voice out of which the strength was gone.  “I –­I guess the –­heat and smoke got me!  But –­some one –­must try!”

Where was that fire department?

Dick, staring over the crowd, found that all of his chums had arrived.

“Come on, fellows!” he yelled.  “We’ve got to do something.  Follow me!”

Prescott, after one swift glance at the buildings, made a dash for the door of the one just to the right of the blazing pile.  Into the stairway entrance he dashed, followed by Dave Darrin, by Tom Reade, Greg Holmes, Dan Dalzell and Harry Hazelton.

“Hurrah!” yelled some one, in infectious enthusiasm.  “Dick & Co. to the rescue!”