The High School Pitcher; or, Dick & Co. on the Gridley Diamond

Clang!

"Attention, please."

The barely audible droning of study ceased promptly in the big assembly room of the Gridley High School.

The new principal, who had just stepped into the room, and who now stood waiting behind his flat-top desk on the platform, was a tall, thin, severe-looking man of thirty-two or three.

For this year Dr. Carl Thornton, beloved principal for a half-score of years, was not in command at the school. Ill health had forced the good old doctor to take at least a year's rest, and this stranger now sat in the Thornton chair.

"Mr. Harper," almost rasped out Mr. Cantwell's voice, "stop rustling that paper."

Harper, a little freshmen, who had merely meant to slip the paper inside his desk, and who was not making a disturbing noise thereby, flushed pink and sat immobile, the paper swinging from one hand.

From the principal's attitude and his look of seriousness, something unusual was pending. Some of the girls permitted their apprehension to be seen. On the faces of several of the boys rested a look of half defiance, for this principal was unpopular, and, by the students, was considered unjust.

"It being now in the early part of December," went on Mr. Cantwell, "we shall, on Monday, begin rehearsing the music for the special exercises to be held in this school on the day before Christmas. To that end, each of you found, on returning from recess, the new Christmas music on your desk."

Mr. Cantwell paused an instant for this important information to sink in. Several slight, little sighs of relief escaped the students, especially from the girls' side of the great room. This speech did not presage anything very dreadful to come.

"This sheet music," continued Mr. Cantwell, "is to be sold to the pupils at cost to the Board of Education. This cost price is fifteen cents."

Again Mr. Cantwell paused. It was a trick of his, a personal peculiarity. Then be permitted himself a slight smile as he added:

"This being Friday, I will ask you all to be sure to bring, on Monday morning, the money, which you will pay to me. Don't forget, please; each of you bring me his little fifteen pennies. Now, return to your studies until the beginning of the fourth period is announced."

As he bent his head low behind a bulky textbook, Dan Dalzell, of the sophomore class, glanced over at Dick Prescott with sparkling mischief gleaming in his eyes.

Dick, who was now a sophomore, and one of the assured leaders in sports and fun, guessed that Dan Dalzell was hatching another of the wild schemes for which Dalzell was somewhat famous. Dick even guessed that he knew about what was passing in Dan's mind.

Though moderate whispering was permitted, at need, in the assembly room, there was no chance for Dick and Dan to pass even a word at this time, for almost immediately the bell for the fourth period of the morning's work sounded, and the sections rose and filed out to the various recitation rooms.

To readers of the preceding volume in this series, Dick & Co. will need no introduction. All six of the youngsters were very well introduced in "The High School Freshmen."

Such readers will remember their first view of Dick & Co. With brown-haired Dick Prescott as leader, the other members of this unique firm of High School youngsters, were Tom Reade, Dan Dalzell, Harry Hazelton, Gregory Holmes and Dave Darrin.

The six had been chums at the Central Grammar School, and had stuck together like burrs through the freshman year at the Gridley High School. In fact, even in their freshmen period, when new students are not expected to have much to say, and are given no chance at the school athletics, Dick & Co. had made themselves abundantly felt.

Our readers will recall how the Board of Education had some notion of prohibiting High School football, despite the fact that the Gridley H.S. eleven was one of the best in the United States. Readers will also recall the prank hatched by Dick & Co., by means of which the Board was quickly shown how unpopular such a move would be in the city.

Our readers will also recollect that, though freshmen were barred from active part in sports, yet Dick & Co. found the effective way of raising plentiful funds for the Athletics Committee. In the annual paper chase the freshmen hounds, under Dick Prescott's captaincy, beat the sophomore hares--for the first time in many years. In the skating events, later on, Dick and his chums captured, for the freshman class, three of the eight events. From the start, Dick & Co. had shown great ingenuity in "boosting" football, in return for which, many of the usual restrictions on freshmen were waived where Dick & Co. were concerned.

In the nearly three months, now, that the new school year had gone along, Dick & Co. had proved that, as sophs, they were youngsters of great importance in the student body. They were highly popular with most of their fellow-students; but of course that very popularity made them some enemies among those who envied or disliked them.

For one thing, neither Dick nor any of his partners came of families of any wealth. Yet it was inevitable that some of the boys and girls of Gridley H.S. should come from families of more or less wealth.

It is but fair to say that most of these scions of the wealthier families were agreeable, affable and democratic--in a word, Americans without any regard to the size of the family purse.

A few of the wealthier young people, however, made no secret of their dislike for smiling, happy, capable Dick & Co. One of the leaders in this feeling was Fred Ripley, son of a wealthy, retired lawyer.

During the skating events of the preceding winter, Dick Prescott, aided by his chums, had saved the life of Ripley, who had gone through thin ice. However, so haughty a young man as Fred Ripley, though he had been slightly affected by the brave generosity, could not quite bring himself to regard Dick as other than an interloper in High School life.

Ripley had even gone so far as to bribe Tip Scammon, worthless, profligate son of the honest old janitor of the High School, to commit a series of robberies from the locker rooms in the school basement while Dick carried the key as monitor there. The "plunder" had been found in Dick's own room at home, and the young man had been suspended from the High School for a while. Thanks, however, to Laura Bentley and Belle Meade, two girls then freshmen and now sophs, Tip had been run down. Then the police made Tip confess, and he was sent away to the penitentiary for a short term. Tip, however, refused to the last to name his accomplice. Dick knew that Ripley was the accomplice, but kept his silence, preferring to fight all his own battles by himself.

So Fred Ripley was now a junior, in good standing as far as scholarship and school record went.

So far, during this new year, Ripley had managed to smother his hatred for Dick & Co., especially for Dick himself.

Lessons and recitations on this early December morning went off as usual. In time the hands of the clock moved around to one o'clock in the afternoon, at which time the High School closed for the day.

The partners of Dick & Co. went down the steps of the building and all soon found their way through the surging crowds of escaped students. This sextette turned down one of the streets and trudged along together. At first several of the other High School boys walked along near them. Finally, however, the crowd thinned away until only Dick & Co. were together.

"Dan," said Dick, smilingly, "something struck you hard this morning, when Mr. Cantwell asked us all to bring the music-money on Monday."

"He didn't say exactly 'money,'" retorted Dan Dalzell, quickly. "What Prin. did say was that each one of us was to bring fifteen pennies."

"Yes, I remember," laughed Dick.

"Now, we couldn't have held that mob when school let out," pursued Dan. "And now it's too late. But say, if the Prin. had only sprung that on us before recess---"

"Well, suppose he had?" interrupted Greg Holmes, a trifle impatiently.

"Why, then," retorted Dan, mournfully, "we could have passed word around, at recess, to have everybody bring just what the Prin. called for--pennies!"

"Hm!" grinned Dave Darrin, who was never slow to see the point of anything. "Then you had a vision of the unpopular Prin. being swamped under a deluge of pennies--plain, individual little copper cents?"

"That's it!" agreed Dan. "But now, we won't see more than a few before we go to school again Monday. Oh--wow! What a chance that takes away from us. Just imagine the Prin. industriously counting away at thousands of pennies, and a long line of boy and girl students in line, each one waiting to pass him another handful of pennies! Say, can you see the Prin.--just turning white and muttering to himself? But there's no chance to get the word around, now!"

"We don't need to get the word around," smiled Dick. "If we passed the word around, it might get to the Prin.'s ears before Monday, and he'd hatch up some way to head us off."

"If you can see how to work the trick at this late hour, you can see further than I can," muttered Dan, rather enviously.

"Oh, Dick has the scheme hatching, or he wouldn't talk about it," declared Dave Darrin, confidently.

"Why, if all you want is to send the whole student body on Monday morning, each with fifteen copper cents to hand the Prin., that can be fixed up easily enough," Dick pronounced, judicially.

"How are we going to do it?" asked Dalzell, dubiously.

"Well, let us see how many pennies would be needed? There are close to two hundred and fifty students, but a few might refuse to go into the trick. Let us say two hundred and forty times fifteen. That's thirty-six hundred, isn't it? That means we want to get thirty-six dollars' worth of pennies. Well, we'll get them!"

"We will?" demanded Dan, with a snort. "Dick, unless you've got more cash on hand than the rest of us then I don't believe a dragnet search of this crowd would turn up two dollars. Thirty-six? That's going some and halfway back!"

"There are three principal ways of buying goods of any kind,"

Dick continued. "One way is with cash---"

"That's the street we live on!" broke in Harry Hazelton, with a laugh.

"The second way," Dick went on, "is to pay with a check. But you must have cash at the bank behind the check, or you get into trouble. Now the third way is to buy goods on credit."

"That's just as bad," protested Dan. "Where, in the whole town, could a bunch of youngsters like us, get thirty-six dollars' worth of real credit?"

"I can," declared Dick, coolly.

"You? Where? With your father?"

"No; Dad rarely takes in much in the way of pennies. I don't suppose he has two dollars' worth of pennies on hand at any time. But, fellows, you know that 'The Morning Blade' is a one cent paper. Now, the publisher of 'The Blade' must bank a keg of pennies every day in the week. I can see Mr. Pollock, the editor, this afternoon, right after luncheon. He has probably sent most of the pennies to bank today, but I'll ask him if he'll have to-morrow's pennies saved for us."

"Say, if he'll only do that!" glowed Dan, his eyes flashing.

"He will," declared Dave Darrin. "Mr. Pollock will do anything, within reason, that Dick asks."

"Now, fellows, if I can put this thing through, we can meet in my room to-morrow afternoon at one o'clock. Pennies come in rolls of fifty each, you know. We'll have to break up the rolls, and make new ones, each containing fifteen pennies."

Dave Darrin stopped where he was, and began to laugh. Tom Reade quickly joined in. The others were grinning.

"Oh, say, just for one look at Prin.'s face, if we can spring that job on him!" chuckled Harry Hazelton.

"We can," announced Dick, gravely. "So go home and enjoy your dinners, fellows. If you want to meet on the same old corner on Main Street, at half-past two to-day, we'll go in a body to 'The Blade' office and learn what Mr. Pollock has to say about our credit."

"Your credit, you mean," corrected Dave.

After dinner Dick & Co. met as agreed. Arrived at "The Blade" office it was decided that Dick Prescott should go in alone to carry on the negotiation. He soon came out again, wearing a satisfied smile and carrying a package under one arm.

"If I'm any good at guessing," suggested Dave, "you put the deal over."

"Mr. Pollock agreed, all right," nodded Dick. "I have fourteen dollars here. He'll let us have the rest to-morrow."

They hurried back to Dick's room, over the bookstore that was run by Mr. and Mrs. Prescott.

"Whew, but this stuff is heavy," muttered Dick, dumping the package on the table. "Mr. Pollock sent out to the pressroom and had some paper cut of just the size that we shall need for wrappers."

"Did you tell Pollock what we are going to do?" asked Greg Holmes.

"Not exactly, but he guessed that some mischief was on. He wanted to know if it was anything that would make good local reading in 'The Blade,' so I told him I thought it would be worth a paragraph or two, and that I'd drop around Monday afternoon and give him the particulars. That was all I said."

Inside the package were three "sticks" of the kind that are used for laying the little coins in a row before wrapping.

"Now, one thing we must be dead careful about, fellows," urged Dick, as he undid the package, "is to be sure that we get an exact fifteen coins in each wrapper. If we got in more, we'd be the losers. If we put less than fifteen cents in any wrapper, then we're likely to be accused of running a swindling game."

So every one of the plotters was most careful to count the coins. It was not rapid work, and only half the partners could work at any one time. They soon caught the trick of wrapping, however, and then the little rolls began to pile up.

Saturday afternoon Dick & Co. were similarly engaged. Nor did they find the work too hard. Americans will endure a good deal for the sake of a joke.

Monday morning, shortly after half-past seven, Dick and his chums had stationed themselves along six different approaches to the High School. Each young pranker had his pockets weighted down with small packages, each containing fifteen pennies.

Purcell, of the junior class, was the first to pass Dick Prescott.

"Hullo, Purcell," Dick greeted the other, with a grin. "Want to see some fun?"

"Of course," nodded the junior. "What's going?"

"You remember that Prin. asked us, last Friday, to bring in our fifteen pennies for the Christmas music?"

"Of course. Well, I have my money in my pocket."

"In pennies?" insisted Dick.

"Well, no; of course not. But I have a quarter, and I guess Prin. can change that."

Dick quickly explained the scheme. Purcell, with a guffaw, purchased one of the rolls.

"Now, see here," hinted Dick, "there'll be such a rush, soon, that we six can't attend to all the business. Won't you take a dozen rolls and peddle them? I'll charge 'em to you, until you can make an accounting."

Purcell caught at the bait with another laugh. Dick noted Purcell's name on a piece of paper, with a dollar and eighty cents charged against it.

All the other partners did the same with other students. With such a series of pickets out around the school none of the student body got through without buying pennies, except Fred Ripley and Clara Deane. They were not asked to buy.

Meanwhile, up in the great assembly room a scene was going on that was worth looking at.

Abner Cantwell had seated himself at his desk. Before him lay a printed copy of the roll of the student body. It was the new principal's intention to check off each name as a boy or girl paid for the music. Knowing that he would have a good deal of currency to handle, the principal had brought along a satchel for this morning.

First of all, Harper came tripping into the room. He went to his desk with his books, then turned and marched to the principal's desk.

"I've brought the money for the music, Mr. Cantwell."

"That's right, Mr. Harper," nodded the principal.

The little freshman carefully deposited his fifteen pennies on the desk. They were out of the roll. Dick & Co. had cautioned each investor to break the wrapper, and count the pennies before moving on.

Two of the seniors presently came in. They settled with pennies. Then came Laura Bentley and Belle Meade. Their pennies were laid on the principal's desk.

"Why, all pennies, so far!" exclaimed Mr. Cantwell. "I trust not many will bring coins of such low denomination."

A look of bland innocence rested on Laura's face.

"Why, sir," she remarked, "you asked us, Friday, to bring pennies.

"Did I?" demanded the principal, a look of astonishment on his face.

"Why, yes, sir," Belle Meade rattled on. "Don't you remember? You laughed, Mr. Cantwell, and asked each one of us to bring fifteen pennies to-day."

"I had forgotten that, Miss Meade," returned the principal. Then, as the sophomore young ladies turned away, a look of suspicion began to settle on the principal's face. Nor did that look lessen any when the next six students to come in each carried pennies to the desk.

Twenty more brought pennies. By this time there was a stern look on the principal's white face.

During the next few minutes after that only two or three came in, for Dick had thought of a new aspect to the joke. He had sent messengers scurrying out through the street approaches with this message:

"We're not required to be in the assembly room until eight o'clock.

Let's all wait until two minutes of eight--then go in a throng."

So the principal had a chance to catch up with his counting as the minutes passed. So busy was he, however, that it didn't quite occur to him to wonder why so few of the student body had as yet come in.

Then, at 7.58, a resounding tread was heard on the stairs leading up from the basement locker rooms. Some two hundred boys and girls were coming up in two separate throngs. They were still coming when the assembly bell rang. As fast as any entered they made their way, with solemn faces, to the desk on the platform.

As Mr. Cantwell had feared, the pennies still continued to pour in upon him. Suddenly the principal struck his desk sharply with a ruler, then leaped to his feet. His face was whiter than ever. It was plain that the man was struggling to control himself against an outburst of wrath. He even forced a smile to his face a sort of smile that had no mirth in it.

"Young ladies and young gentlemen," Mr. Cantwell rasped out, sharply, "some of you have seen fit to plan a joke against me, and to carry it out most audaciously. It's a good joke, and I admit that it's on me. But it has been carried far enough. If you please--no more pennies!"

"But pennies are all I happen to have, sir," protested Dave Darrin, stepping forward. "Don't you want me to pay you for the music, sir?"

"Oh, well," replied the principal, with a sigh, "I'll take 'em, then."

As Dick & Co. had disposed of every one of their little rolls of fifteen, few of the students were unprovided with pennies. So the copper stream continued to pour in. Mr. Cantwell could have called any or all of his submasters and teachers to his aid. He thought of it presently, as his fingers ached from handling all the pennies.

"Mr. Drake, will you come to the desk?" he called.

So Submaster Drake came to the platform, drawing a chair up beside the principal's. But Mr. Cantwell still felt obliged to do the counting, as he was responsible for the correctness of the sums. So all Mr. Drake could do was check off the names as the principal called them.

Faster and faster poured the copper stream now. Mr. Cantwell, the cords sticking out on his forehead, and a clammy dew bespangling his white face, counted on in consuming anger. Every now and then he turned to dump two or three handfuls of counted pennies into his open satchel.

Gathered all around the desk was a throng of students, waiting to pay. Beyond this throng, safely out of range of vision, other students gathered in groups and chuckled almost silently.

Clatter! By an unintentional move of one arm Mr. Cantwell swept fully a hundred pennies off on to the floor. He leaped up, flushed and angry.

"Will the young--gentlemen--aid me in recovering the coins that went on the floor?" he asked.

There was promptly a great scurrying and searching. The principal surely felt harassed that morning. It was ten minutes of nine when the last student had paid and had had his name checked off. Mr. Cantwell was at the boiling point of wrath.

Just as the principal was putting the last of the coins into his satchel Mr. Drake leaned over to whisper:

"May I make a suggestion, sir?"

"Certainly," replied the principal coldly. "Yet I trust, Mr. Drake, that it won't be a suggestion for an easy way of accumulating more pennies than I already have."

"I think, if I were you, sir, I should pay no heed to this joke---"

"Joke?" hissed the principal under his breath. "It's an outrage!"

"But intended only as a piece of pleasantry, sir. So I think it will pass off much better if you don't allow the students to see that they have annoyed you."

"Why? Do the students want to annoy me?" demanded Mr. Cantwell, in another angry undertone.

"I wouldn't say that," replied Mr. Drake. "But, if the young men discover that you are easily teased, they are sufficiently mischief-loving to try other jokes on you."

"Then a good friend of theirs would advise them not to do so," replied Mr. Cantwell, with a snap of his jaws.

That closed the matter for the time being. The first recitation period of the morning had been lost, but now the students, most of them finding difficulty in suppressing their chuckles, were sent to the various class rooms.

Before recess came, the principal having a period free from class work, silently escaped from the building, carrying the thirty-six hundred pennies to the bank. As that number of pennies weighs something more than twenty-three pounds, the load was not a light one.

"I have a big lot of pennies here that I want to deposit," he explained to the receiving teller.

"How many?" asked the teller.

"Thirty-six hundred," replied Mr. Cantwell.

"Are they counted and done up into rolls of fifty, with your name on each roll?" asked the teller.

"Why--er--no," stammered the principal. "They're just loose--in bulk, I mean."

"Then I'm very sorry, Mr. Cantwell, but we can't receive them in that shape, sir. They will have to be counted and wrapped, and your name written on each roll."

"Do you mean to say that I must take these pennies home, count them all--again!--and then wrap them and sign the wrappers."

"I'm sorry, but you, or some one will have to do it, Mr. Cantwell."

Then and there the principal exploded. One man there was in the bank at that moment who was obliged to turn his head away and stifle back the laughter. That man was Mr. Pollock, of "The Blade." Pollock knew now what Dick & Co. had wanted of such a cargo of pennies.

"I can't carry this infernal satchel back to school," groaned the principal, disgustedly. "Some of the boys, when they see me, will realize that the satchel is still loaded, and they'll know what has happened to me at the bank. It will make me look fearfully ridiculous to be caught in that fashion, with the joke against me a second time! And yet I have a class immediately after recess. What can I do?"

A moment later, however, he had solved the problem. There was a livery stable not far away, and he knew the proprietor. So to that stable Mr. Cantwell hurried, changing the satchel from one hand to the other whenever an arm ached too much.

"This satchel contains a lot of currency, Mr. Getchel," explained the poor principal. "I wish you could do me the favor of having a horse hitched up and take this to my wife. Will you do it?"

"Certainly," nodded the liveryman. "Just lock the satchel; that is all. I'll have the bag at your home within fifteen minutes."

So during the first period after recess Mrs. Cantwell was visited by Getchel, who handed her the satchel, merely remarking:

"Mr. Cantwell left this at my office, ma'am, and asked me to bring it down to you. It contains some money that your husband sent you."

Money? The good woman, who "loved" money too well to spend much of it, hefted the satchel. Gracious! There must be a big lot of the valuable stuff. But the satchel was locked. Mrs. Cantwell promptly hunted until she found another satchel key that fitted. Then she opened the bag, staring at the contents with big eyes.

"What on earth can my husband have been doing?" she wondered.

"Surely he hasn't been robbing the Salvation Army Christmas boxes!

And the idea of sending me money all in pennies!"

The more she thought about it the more indignant did Mrs. Cantwell become. Finally, a little after noon, Mrs. Cantwell decided to take the stuff to the bank, have it counted and turned over into greenbacks. So she trudged up to the bank with it. The journey was something more than a mile in length. Mrs. Cantwell arrived at the bank, only to make the same discovery that her husband had made about the need of counting and wrapping the money before it could be deposited or exchanged. It was close to one o'clock, and the High School not far away. So, full of ire, Mrs. Cantwell started down to her husband's place of employment.

Once school let out for the day, a quarter of a thousand members of the student body went off, full of glee, to spread the news of the joke. As they hurried along many of the students noticed that Mrs. Cantwell was standing not far from the gate and that, at her feet, lay her husband's black satchel. Several of the students were quick to wonder what this new phase of the matter meant.

After school was dismissed Fred Ripley remained behind, strapping several books together. Then, as he passed the principal's desk, he remarked:

"I suppose, Mr. Cantwell, that some of the students thought that a very funny trick that was played on you this morning. While I am speaking of it, I wish to assure you, sir, that I had no hand in the outrage."

"I am very glad to hear you say that, Mr. Ripley. Some day I hope I shall have a notion who did originate the practical joke."

"I don't believe you would have to guess very long, sir," Ripley hinted.

"What do you mean?"

"Why, sir, whenever anything of that sort is hatched up in this school, it's generally a pretty safe guess that Dick & Co. are at the bottom of it all."

"Dick & Co.?" repeated Mr. Cantwell.

"Dick Prescott and his chums, sir," replied Ripley, rapidly naming the five partners. Then, having accomplished what he wanted, Fred sauntered out.

"I'll look into this further," thought Mr. Cantwell, angrily. "If I can satisfy myself that Prescott was at the bottom of this wicked hoax then I--I may find it possible to make him want to cut his High School course short!"

Mrs. Cantwell was waiting at the gate.

"What on earth, Abner, did you mean by sending me this great cartload of pennies?" demanded the principal's spouse. "Here I've taken it up to the bank, and find they won't accept it--not in this form, anyway. Now, I've carried it this far, Abner, and you may carry it the rest of the way home."

"Why--er--er--" stammered the principal.

"Mr. Getchel brought the satchel to me, and told me it was money you had sent me. But I want to say, Abner, that of all the---"

At this moment the principal picked up the hateful satchel and the pair passed out of hearing of four young freshmen who had hidden near to learn what the mystery of the satchel meant. It was not long, either, before the further joke had become known to a great many of the students.