“He said,” replied the newspaper man subduedly, “that he controlled three-fifths of the stock of the Reporter and he guessed the paper wouldn’t be too hard on him!”
Dick grinned. “Does he?”
Mr. Potter nodded sheepishly. “Yes, but I’d forgotten it. After that I had to—well, I had to tone down a bit. I asked him if it wouldn’t be possible to delay work on the field until after Saturday. I told him about all the advertising that had been done and how everyone was looking forward to the game and all that, you know.”
“Yes? And he wouldn’t agree?”
“He said, ‘Young man, get out!’ Just that and not another word!”
“Then I guess it’s all off,” said Dick regretfully. “It’s too bad. Of course, we might play the game at the Point——”
“We couldn’t get the crowd over there. No, sir, it’s got to be played here. You’re certain there isn’t another field anywhere?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“Then there’s just one thing to be done. It’s a last resort and it doesn’t promise well, but I’ll try it.”
“What?” asked Dick.