The two had stepped down just off the street into the alleyway.
"Does everyone seem to believe that the job was put up at the
Business Men's Club?" Dick asked.
"Sure thing," nodded Len Spencer. "And no member of the Club will deny it, either, for the thing has struck the popular side of the town. Why, by tonight, there'll be at least a dozen of the members, each confidentially telling his friends that he conceived the whole trick."
"That'll make it all the stronger," nodded Dick. "Good thing."
"Glee!" chuckled Len. "Wouldn't the whole town—-including the Board members—-wake up, if they only knew that the whole thing was planned out by a fourteen-year-old freshie, by name Dick Prescott!"
"You won't let it out, Len, that I had any hand in it?" asked
Dick, quickly.
"Oh, not I," promised Len, quickly. "I gave you my word on that, son, didn't I?"
"Now, see here," Dick went on, "why can't you push this thing along one day further? Why don't you interview a lot of the prominent business men on the absolute necessity of football for keeping up the H.S. spirit and traditions?"
"Good idea as far as it goes," assented Len, dubiously. "But a lot of the business men might prove to be fossilized, and be against the grand old game."
"Leave that sort out," hinted Dick, sagely, "and go after the right kind."