"Lynch him for it, anyway, whatever it is," retorted another.
"Wait!" commanded Thompson. "And listen."
There upon Frank detailed what he and his two comrades had overheard at the head of the alleyway. Instantly the complexion of things changed. There were cheers and hoarse yells, as the football men rushed forward, crowding about Dick Prescott.
"Now I've told all that I heard," wound up Thompson. "We'll have to ask Mr. Prescott to favor us with the further details, which I trust he will be inclined to do."
"Mr. Prescott!" That, instead of "cub," "kid" or "freshie." Had the enthusiasm been less intense Dick would have been sure that they were having fun with him.
"Go on," ordered Ben Badger briefly. "Talk up!"
To have refused plain orders from a first classman might have been serious. Dick knew better. Clearing his throat he related all he could recall of how the plot came to be hatched. Nor was Dick glory-hunter enough to give himself any more credit than he did his partners. In his brief account the freshman spread all the credit for the invention equally over the six members of Dick & Co.
"'Twas a great thought, and carried out like a campaign," declared
Ben Badger. There was more cheering. Then Frank Thompson dragged
Dick forward once more before the lined-up team.
"Fellows," proposed Thompson, "we owe this freshie——-"
"Stop that!" roared one of the fellows. "Prescott may be young—-painfully young—-but he's no freshie."