"Then what shall I do with the young men this time?"
"Since you have—-er—-missed your opportunity, you—-er—-can do nothing, now, but let it pass. Let them imagine, from day to day, that sentence is still suspended and hovering over them."
Wily Dick Prescott had been to see Mr. Gadsby, just before the arrival of the principal. In his other capacity of reporter for "The Blade" the High School pitcher had said a few earnest words to his host. Mr. Gadsby, with his eye turned ever toward election day and the press, had been wholly willing to listen.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE AGONY OF THE LAST BIG GAME
"Ya, ya, ya! Ye gotter do somethings!"
This from Mr. Schimmelpodt. That gentleman was waving one of his short, fat arms wildly. It may as well be stated that from the smaller extremity of that arm, namely, his hand—-a small crimson and gold banner attached to a stick cut circles in the air.
"Go to it, Gridley!"
"Get busy! You can't take a black eye at this end of the season."
Gridley High School with a season's record of one tied game and a long tally of victories, seemed now in dire straits.