"That'll make it all the stronger," nodded Dick. "Good thing."

"Glee!" chuckled Len. "Wouldn't the whole town---including the
Board members---wake up, if they only knew that the whole thing
was planned out by a fourteen-year-old freshie, by name Dick Prescott!"

"You won't let it out, Len, that I had any hand in it?" asked
Dick, quickly.

"Oh, not I," promised Len, quickly. "I gave you my word on that,
son, didn't I?"

"Now, see here," Dick went on, "why can't you push this thing
along one day further? Why don't you interview a lot of the prominent
business men on the absolute necessity of football for keeping
up the H.S. spirit and traditions?"

"Good idea as far as it goes," assented Len, dubiously. "But
a lot of the business men might prove to be fossilized, and be
against the grand old game."

"Leave that sort out," hinted Dick, sagely, "and go after the
right kind."

"How'll I know the right kind?" asked reporter Spencer, thoughtfully.

"Why, use your head a bit. There's Beck. He's a millionaire,
and one of the big men of the town, isn't he?"