“It’s very clever,” admitted Don, “but you had better take care what you do in this line. Your skill in imitating the writing of other persons may get you into trouble some day.”
“Get out! I’m not a fool! Take that to old Alden to-morrow, and he’ll accept it without a word. That’ll keep your old gent from finding out anything now, and something may prevent him from taking in any of the games, so he won’t know you’re not on the eleven. It’s best not to hurt his feelings by telling him everything. I reckon I’d better be skipping out.”
When Leon was gone, Don picked up the forged excuse and looked it over critically.
“It would fool me, that’s certain,” he muttered. “The imitation of father’s writing is perfect. But I can’t carry this to Professor Alden.”
He took hold of it, as if intending to tear it up, but hesitated, paused, wavered, then laid it down on the desk.
The following day, he took it to school and gave it to the professor.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE TACKLING MACHINE.
Even without a football, Renwood succeeded in getting some profitable practice out of the eleven. Early on Monday morning he went to a certain carpenter’s shop in the village and placed before the proprietor the plan of a somewhat novel arrangement, consisting of two upright timbers, with guy-ropes and pullies and running lines.
“It’s rather out of my line to make anything of the sort,” said the carpenter; “but I guess I can do it if I can git Enos Berry, the sail-maker, to help me. He knows more about splicin’ ropes and riggin’ up tackle than anybody round here. If I had anything else to do, I wouldn’t touch it, but I’ll see what can be done.”
“I want it all done by to-night,” said Dolph. “We must have it to-night, and it must be set up on the field.”