"On the gridiron, on the gridiron!" hummed Tom, audibly, as he tried clumsily to fit the words to the refrain of a popular song.
Dick Prescott was "getting warm" on the scent of the hidden meaning.
"Shut yo' mouf!" gruffly commanded the lack. "Ah doan' wantah tell yo' dat again, neider."
"Right foot—-high foot!" chanted Tom.
Mentally Dick Prescott jumped as though he had been shot. "Right foot—-high foot" had been one of their old kicking signals on the Gridley High School eleven!
Lieutenant Dick Prescott fairly throbbed as he now understood the covered signal.
"Now!" left Reade's lips with explosive energy, though the word was low-spoken.
At "right foot—-high foot" and "now" each youth suddenly shot his right foot up into the air.
Tom's landed against Sambo's right wrist, kicking the automatic revolver completely out of the negro's hands.
Dick's kick landed against the black man's left wrist. The pistol held in Sambo's left hand was discharged, though the muzzle had been driven up at such an angle that the bullet passed harmlessly over Prescott's head.