Thursday night and Friday morning more copies of the betrayed signals poured in upon Captain Dick.

Wherever these signals had been received by captains of other school teams, it soon appeared, these captains of rival elevens had punctually mailed them back.  It spoke volumes for the honor of the American schoolboy, for Gridley High School was feared far and wide on the gridiron, and there was not an eleven in the state but would have welcomed an honorable way of beating Prescott’s men.

Moreover, working on Dick’s suggestion, Mr. Morton busied himself with securing several letters that had been received from Drayne’s father.

These letters were compared, Friday evening, with the copies of the signals that had been sent to other elevens.  Under a magnifying glass these collected papers all exhibited one fact that the letters and the copies of the signal code had been struck off on a machine having the same peculiarities as to worn faces of certain types.  It was thus rather clearly established that Phin Drayne must have used the typewriting machine that stood in his father’s office.

Drayne was not at school on Friday.  Instead, an excuse of illness was received from him.

Nor did Mr. Morton say anything to Dr. Thornton, the principal, until the end of the school week.

Just after school had been dismissed, at one o’clock Friday afternoon, Mr. Morton called Dr. Thornton to the private office, and there laid before him the charges and the proofs.

That fine old gentleman was overwhelmed with grief that “one of his boys” should have done such an utterly mean, wanton and dishonorable thing.

“This can’t be passed by, Mr. Morton,” exclaimed Dr. Thornton brokenly.  “If you will kindly leave the proofs in my hands, I will see that the whole matter is taken up officially.”

Friday afternoon the football squad met for more practice with the new signals.  Friday evening each young man who was scheduled as being even likely to play the next day studied over the signals at home, then, under orders, burned his copy of the code.  Saturday morning the squad met for some more practice, though not much.

“I believe all of us are in trim now, sir,” Captain Prescott reported to the coach.  “I am rather sure all of our men know the new signals by heart, and there’ll be no confusion.  But, of course, for the first game, the old snap of our recent practice will be missing.  It has been a hard blow to us.”

“If we have to lose to-day’s game,” muttered Mr. Morton, “I’ll be almost satisfied to lose it to Tottenville, after the manly and straightout conduct of Mr. Jarvis!”

“That same line of thought would make us content to go through a losing season, for all the fellows in other towns who received that betrayed code sent the information right back to us,” smiled Prescott.  “But we’re not going to lose to-day’s game, Mr. Morton, nor any other day’s.  Drayne’s treachery has just about crazed the other fellows with anger.  They’ll win everything ahead of ’em, now, just for spite and disgust, if for no better reason.”

“Sometimes anger serves a good purpose,” laughed Mr. Morton.  “But it was pitiful to look at poor old Dr. Thornton yesterday afternoon.  At first I thought he was going to faint.  He seemed suddenly to grow ten years older.  It cut him to the quick.  He loves every one of his boys, and to have one of them go bad is just as painful to him as to see his own son sent to the penitentiary.”

“Is Dr. Thornton coming to the game this afternoon, sir?”

“Yes; he has never missed one yet, in any year that he has been principal of Gridley High School.”

“Then we’ll make that fine old American gentleman feel all right again by the grand game that we’ll put up,” promised Dick vehemently.  “I’ll pass the word, and the fellows will strain themselves to the last drop.”

Orders were issued to the gate tenders to throw Drayne out if he presented himself at the gate.

Drayne did put in an appearance, and he got through the gate to a seat on the grand stand, but it was no fault of the gate tenders.

Drayne had spent some of his spare money at the costumer’s.  With his trim, rather slim figure Phin Drayne made up rather well as a girl.  He wore black –­mourning throughout, perhaps in memory of his departed honor –­and a heavy veil covered his face.  In this disguise Drayne sat where he could see what would happen.

At the outset it was Gridley’s kick off, and for the next ten minutes Tottenville had the ball, fighting stubbornly with it.  But at last, when forced half way down the field between center and its own goal line, Gridley blocked so well in the three following plays that the pigskin came to the home eleven.

Dick bent over, holding the ball for the snapback, while his battle front formed on each side of him.

Dave Darrin, quarter-back, raced back a few steps, then halted, looking keenly, swiftly over the field.

Phin Drayne drew his breath sharply.  Then his heart almost stopped beating as he listened.

“Thirty-eight –­nine –­eleven –­four!” sounded Darrin’s voice, sharp and clear.

“That’s the run around the left end!” throbbed Phin Drayne.

But it wasn’t.  A fake kick, followed by a cyclonic impact at the right followed.

“They’ve changed the signals!” gulped the guilty masquerader behind the black veil.  “Then they’ve found out.”

With this came the next disheartening thought: 

“That’s the reason, then, why the coach ordered me out of the field Thursday afternoon.  Morton is wise.  I wonder if he has told it all around?”

Gridley High School was doing some of its brilliant, old-style play now.  Prescott was proving himself an ideal captain, quick-witted, full of strategy, force, push and dash, yet all the while displaying the best of cool judgment in sizing up the chances of the hard battle.

But that which Phin Drayne noted most of all was that every signal used had a different meaning from that employed in the code he had mailed to the captains of the other school teams.

“It was all found out, and Gridley wasn’t hurt,” thought Phin, gnashing his teeth.  “Good luck always seems to follow that fellow Prescott!  Can’t he be beaten?  We shall see!  Prescott, my fine bully, I’m not through with you yet.”

The first half ended without either side scoring.  Impartial onlookers thought that perhaps formidable Tottenville had had rather the better of it, but no one could tell with certainty which was the better team.

When neither side scores in the first half that which remains to be determined is, which side will show the bigger reserve of vitality in the second half.

And now the ball was off again, with twenty-two men pursuing and fighting for it as though the fate of the nation hung on the result.  Dick, too, soon had things moving at a gait that had all Gridley standing up and boosting with all the powers of lungs, hands and feet.

All that remained to interest Phin Drayne was to discover whether his late comrades had sufficiently mastered their new signals not to fail in their team work.

Once in the second half there was a brief fluster.  Two Gridley men went “woozy” over the same signal.  But alert Dave Darrin rushed in and snatched a clever advantage out of momentary confusion.

After that there was no more confusion.  Gridley took the game by a single touchdown, failing in the subsequent kick for goal.  Five minutes later time expired.

Feeling doubly contemptible now, and sick at heart, Phin Drayne crawled weakly down from the grand stand.  He made his way out in the throng, undetected.  He returned to the costumer’s, got off his sneaking garb and donned his own clothing, then slipped away out through a back door that opened on an alleyway.

Not until Sunday afternoon did Drayne yield to the desire to get out of doors.  His training life had made outer air a necessity to him, so he yielded to the desire.  But he kept to back streets.

Just as luck would have it, Drayne came suddenly face to face with Dr. Thornton.

The good old principal had a fixed belief which followed the practice of American law, to the effect that every accused man is innocent until he has been proved guilty.

In addition, the doctor had recovered a good deal from his first depression.  Therefore he was able to meet this offending pupil as he would want to under the circumstances.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Drayne,” was Dr. Thornton’s courteous greeting.  “It is beautiful; weather to be out, isn’t it?”

“It is a perfect day, sir,” Drayne replied.

Once he had gotten past the principal the young wretch gave way to his exultation.

“No charge has been made, then,” he told himself gloatingly.  “If I had been denounced, the Prin. could hardly have been as gracious.  Well, hang it all, what are charges going to amount to, anyway?”

At the High School Monday morning, both before school and at recess, the members of the football squad cut Drayne dead.

“They suspect me, but they can’t prove anything, anyway,” chuckled the traitor to himself.  “Brass, Phin, my boy!  Brass!  That is bound to win out when the clodhoppers can’t prove a blessed thing.”

As none of the students outside of the squad showed any especial inclination to cut him, Phin felt almost wholly reassured.

“It would be libelous, anyway, if the gang passed around a word that they couldn’t prove,” chuckled Drayne.  “So I guess those that may be doing a heap of thinking will have caution enough to keep their mouths shut, anyway,”

That afternoon, after luncheon, Phin Drayne took a long tramp over country roads at the back of the big town.  It was five o’clock when he returned.

“Here’s a note for you, on High School stationery,” said Mrs. Drayne, putting an envelope in her son’s hand.  “It came some time ago.”

Something warned the fellow not to open the envelope there.  He took it to his room, where he read the letter.  It was from Dr. Thornton, and said only: 

"You are directed to appear before the Board of Education at its stated weekly meeting to-night.  This is urgent, and you are warned not to fail in giving this summons due heed."

In an instant Phin was white with fear.  His legs trembled under him, and cold sweat stood out on his neck, face and forehead.

For some moments the young man acted as though in danger of collapse.  Then he staggered over to the tap at his washbowl, and gulped down a glass of water.  He paced the room restlessly for a long time, and finally went over and stood looking out of the window.

“Young man,” he said to himself severely, “you’ve got to brace, and brace hard.  If you haven’t any nerve, then getting square is too strenuous a game for you?  Now, what can that gang prove?  They can suspect, and they can charge, but my denial is fully as good as any other man’s affirmation.  Go before the Board of Education?  Of course I will.  And I’ll make any accuser of mine look mighty small before that august board of local duffers!”

Brave words!  They cheered the young miscreant, anyway.  Phin ate his supper with something like relish.  Afterwards he set out for the High School building, in which the Board had its offices.  Nor did his courage fail him until he had turned in through the gate.

A young man, whistling blithely, came in behind him.  It was Dick Prescott, erect of carriage, and brisk and strong of stride, as becomes a young athlete whose conscience is clear and wholesome.

“Hullo, Prescott, what are you doing around here to-night?” hailed Drayne.

But Dick seemed not to have heard.  Not a note did he drop in the tune that he was whistling.  Springing up the steps ahead, Dick vanished behind the big door.

“Oh, of course he goes here to-night,” thought Phin, with sudden disgust.  “Prescott scribbles for ‘The Blade’ and the Board of Education is one of his stunts each week.”