Two evenings before the game with Mountfort High School a mass meeting was held in the assembly hall. Notices of the meeting had been posted for several days, but there was no wild excitement in evidence.

“You’re going over, aren’t you?” asked Evan of Rob after supper was over that evening and the boys had returned to their room.

“Oh, yes, I shall go over and see the fun,” replied Rob. “You had better come along. And we’ll get Mal.”

“What’s it all about?” Evan inquired. “What do they do?”

“Oh, it’s supposed to be a sort of enthusiastic gathering to show the team that the School loves them; also to contribute little sums of money into the coffer.”

“Oh,” said Evan. “How much should I give?”

Rob shrugged his shoulders and ran his fingers through his long hair.

“That’s up to you, Evan,” he answered. “I’d suggest, however, that you donate about the same amount as I shall.”

“And how much shall you give?”

“Not a red cent,” said Rob curtly.

“Oh, but that hardly seems fair, does it?” Evan asked doubtfully. “I think I’d rather contribute something, Rob.”

“All right; then give ’em a dollar. You’re just throwing your dollar away, though.”

“What do most of the fellows give?”

“You’re supposed to give what you can afford—or what you want to give. I used to give ’em two, but what’s the use? Let’s find Mal and go on over.”

The hall was rather sparsely inhabited when Prentiss arose to address the meeting. Rob and Evan and Malcolm sat together on a front bench, and there were about seventy other chaps in attendance. Prentiss explained that the meeting had been called in pursuance of a school custom to acquaint the supporters of the football team with the plans for the season and to secure from them funds with which to carry out those plans. He informed the audience that the football treasury had held the sum of twelve dollars and eighty cents at the beginning of the year, that amount having been left over from the previous season.

“Of course,” he went on, “that didn’t last very long. We have had to purchase several balls, buy lime for the purpose of marking out the field and get quite a few little things to begin work with. We are now without funds and it is necessary that your response to-night should be generous. We shall need fully a hundred and fifty dollars to carry us through the season. There will be new sweaters to purchase for the entire team and one or two pairs of trousers. Of recent years it has been the custom for players to supply their own shoes, but I think that is a mistake. Lots of fellows can’t afford to pay what they ought to to get a good shoe and the result is that they buy cheap things that don’t give good service. And that naturally affects their playing. I think the Football Association should buy shoes as well as clothing for the players, and I’m sure you will agree with me. Our schedule this season includes games with several teams that require us to travel away from home, and the item of railroad fares will be considerable. So I hope you fellows will respond heartily to our appeal, remembering that you are giving to the School and aiding it in its struggle for football preeminence. You all want to witness a victory over Adams, and the first step toward the—the realization of that desire is to put the Team on its feet financially. Captain Hopkins has a few words to say before we proceed to business.”

There was a smatter of applause as the manager took his seat and Frank Hopkins arose. Hopkins could talk very well when he was in the mood, and he realized that to-night was a time when eloquence was needed. The slim attendance was not encouraging, and the spirit of the meeting evidently left much to be desired in the way of warmth and enthusiasm. Hopkins thrust his hands into his coat pockets and viewed the audience with a genial smile.

“Well,” he began, “what I have to say isn’t of great consequence, fellows. You all know why you’re here. We need money for the Team. We can’t run a football team without money. Fellows have to be clothed and shod and we have to have balls and head-gears and nose-protectors and other things too numerous to mention. They all cost money. And, as the manager has just told you, we’re stoney-broke at this moment. We couldn’t scrape up ten cents if we tried. In fact, both Prentiss and I have had to advance small sums of money to keep things going this far. But we’re going to have a good team this year, one that you’ll all be proud of.”

“Yes, indeed,” called a sarcastic voice from the audience, and a ripple of titters arose. Hopkins frowned momentarily, but quickly remembered his role of geniality and went on:

“We’ve got enough fellows from last year’s team to form an excellent basis to build upon. And the new material in sight is unusually good. In short, the outlook is distinctly encouraging, and I, for one, am quite optimistic regarding the work ahead. Adams has triumphed too long—”

Applause, and a shrill “That’s no joke!” from somewhere at the back of the room.

“She has triumphed too long and it is time that we show her that Riverport is still to be reckoned with. And this fall, fellows, you’ll see a turning of the tables. We’re going to give old Adams a drubbing that will make up, more than make up for past defeats!”

“So you say!” somebody remarked after the applause had died down. Hopkins turned in the direction of the voice.

“I see,” he said, “that we have one or two ‘knockers’ with us. That’s to be expected, however. There are always a few fellows sufficiently lacking in patriotism and school spirit to think it smart to jeer. Well, I guess that’s all I’ve got to say this evening. Except that I hope you will help us all you can. If every one of you will give what he is able to we, on our part, will fulfill our share of the contract. And I’ll tell you right now, fellows, that when the season is done you’ll have no cause to regret your generosity.”

Hopkins had made a good speech and even Rob was forced to clap a little as the captain took his seat again. Joe Law arose and demanded “a cheer for Captain Hopkins” and the audience responded fairly well.

“Now,” announced Prentiss, taking the platform again, “some of the fellows will pass through the hall and receive your contributions. When it is possible, please give cash. If you haven’t the cash, then write your pledges on the slips of paper.”

Law and three other football men arose and started on the rounds. A buzz of conversation dispelled the quiet of the hall.

“Guess I ought to give a couple of dollars,” whispered Evan to Rob. Rob frowned.

“If you do, you’re an idiot,” he growled. “What are you going to give, Mal?”

“Oh, a dollar, I reckon. I’d rather not give them anything, but it seems rather small not to.”

“Then I’ll give a dollar, too,” said Evan as he found his pocket-book. “If they got that much from every fellow—”

“They won’t, though,” said Rob. “A lot of them won’t give a cent. And some think a half’s enough. If they get a hundred this year they’ll be doing mighty well. The fellows are getting tired of paying for a football team that never delivers the goods.”

Law passed the cap along the row and Evan and Malcolm deposited their contributions. Law stared at Rob.

“Come on, now, Rob,” he said, “shell out.”

“Not me,” answered Rob with a smile. “I have better use for my money, Joe. Go on with your old hat.”

“My, but you’re a tight-wad,” said Joe, with a shrug of his big shoulders.

Presently the collectors handed their harvest to Prentiss. The audience waited to hear the result announced. Prentiss and Hopkins counted and figured and at last the former came to the front of the platform with a slip in his hand.

“Doesn’t look happy, does he?” chuckled Rob.

“The amount contributed,” announced Prentiss with thinly veiled sarcasm, “is eighty dollars and sixty cents. I want to thank the generous donor of that ten cent piece if he will stand up where I can see him.”

The audience laughed, but no one arose.

“Of course,” continued Prentiss, “there’s no necessity for me to tell you that you haven’t subscribed much more than half enough money. But that’s your look-out, I guess. If you don’t want a decent team, why, you’re going the right way to get what you do want. To those that have contributed generously—and a few have—I offer thanks. The meeting is over.”

“It’s better than I thought it would be,” chuckled Rob as they pushed their way through the throng at the door. “A long ways eighty dollars will take them!”

“What do you suppose they’ll do?” asked Evan.

“I guess they’ll go broke. Probably make their last year’s uniforms do instead of getting new ones. It’s all nonsense, anyway, for Prentiss to say that they have to have a hundred and fifty dollars. A good manager could get along with not much more than half of that. I guess they’ll have to this year.”

“Oh, they’ll probably call another meeting,” said Malcolm, “or send around canvassers to get after the fellows who haven’t contributed.”

“They don’t know who have contributed and who haven’t,” said Rob, “aside from those who signed their names to pledges. All a fellow would have to do when a canvasser tackled him would be to say that he gave cash at the meeting to-night.”

“That’s so,” Malcolm agreed.

“I sort of wish I’d given another dollar,” mused Evan. “I’d like to see the team wallop Adams, and if they need money to be able to do that it seems as though they ought to have it.”

“It isn’t money they need,” said Rob, “but some good players, a decent captain and manager and somebody to show them football. If Hop would engage a coach he could get all the money he needed, and more too. The trouble with those two chaps is that they’ve got it into their heads that they are the Riverport Football Team. They want to do it all themselves. Even if Hop got a coach he’d be always interfering and I guess Mr. Coach would stay about one week. Then he’d kick Hop and get out.”

“This is Hopkins’ last year, isn’t it?” Evan asked.

“Yes, praises be! And Prentiss’s, too.”

“Who will be captain next year, then?”

“I don’t know. Hop and Prentiss will arrange that between them. I think, though, that Joe Law is getting into line for the honor. Or maybe the mantle will descend upon Miller.”

“But don’t they hold an election?”

“Sort of a one. It’s all fixed beforehand, though. Hop will tell the fellows whom he wants elected and they’ll vote as he tells them to. It’s rather a farce. The whole thing’s a farce. But we’re going to change it, fellows.”

“Are we?” laughed Malcolm. “And how are we going to do it?”

Rob shook his head mysteriously.

“You wait and see,” he answered.

It was still early when they reached the dormitory and they went into Malcolm’s room and made themselves comfortable and continued their discussion of the football situation. Rob was extremely eloquent this evening and derived a lot of pleasure in hauling Hopkins and Prentiss over the coals.

“I don’t see,” he said finally to Evan, “why you want to give those chaps money for their old team after the way they treated you.”

“Well, I dare say I didn’t do very well,” Evan replied. “In fact, I’m sure I didn’t. I can’t play end and I told Devens so when I started. And he didn’t need a quarter or a half—”

“The dickens he didn’t! Call that chap Hinkley a half-back, do you? Well, I don’t. And they need a good quarter on the First Team, too. Miller’s a frost. How’s the ankle getting on?”

“Oh, it’s all right now,” Evan replied.

“That’s good. You may need the use of it before long.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

“Say, Rob, you’re beastly mysterious to-night,” complained Malcolm. “What have you got up your sleeve?”

“Only my arm,” answered Rob. “I’ll tell you all about it, Mal, as soon as—as my plans are perfected.”

“You and your plans!” grunted Malcolm derisively.

When Rob and Evan said good-night and returned to their own room Evan got ready for bed, but Rob, after partially undressing, went to the lower drawer of his bureau and began hauling things over. That lower drawer was Rob’s workshop. There were all sorts of tools there and spools of wire and pieces of metal and odds and ends of all kinds. Evan called it the junk-shop. When working on one of his numerous inventions Rob produced a board about three feet long and eighteen inches wide from the closet and set it on his bed. Then he drew his chair up to it and filed or hammered or whittled to his heart’s content. There was usually a litter of shavings or metal filings—sometimes both—on bed and floor, and Evan had long ago learned to avoid that part of the room unless his feet were protected with slippers. It isn’t pleasant to step on nails or screws or ends of wire, as Evan was continually doing at first. To-night Rob emptied a cigar-box of its contents, fixed his improvised bench in place and set to work with knife and paste-pot.

“What are you up to?” inquired Evan.

“You wait and see,” was the pre-occupied answer. Evan laid hold of a book and threatened Rob’s head with it.

“If you say that to me again to-night, Rob, I’ll brain you!” he declared. Rob looked up, laughed and went on with his work.

“All right, chum, I’ll tell you, then. It’s this way. Your eloquence in behalf of the football team this evening has touched my calloused heart, Evan. Something ought to be done to secure the money they need, and I’m doing it.”

“Well, what’s the cigar-box for?”

“It is no longer a cigar-box; that is, it will be no longer a cigar-box when I get through with it; it will be a contribution-box. I am making a slot here in the lid, you see. Then I shall tack the lid down, cover the whole with nice pink paper and adorn it with a suitable inscription, an inscription that will wring the pennies from the penniless.”

“Rob, you’re an awful idiot,” laughed Evan as he slipped into bed. “Finish it in the morning and let’s get to sleep.”

“Never put off until to-morrow what can be done to-night,” replied Rob virtuously. “You just turn your little face away from the light and compose yourself for slumber, Evan.”

“Oh, thunder, I can’t go to sleep with that light shining!”

“Bet you you’ll be snoring inside of ten minutes.”

“Bet you I won’t. Besides, I don’t snore. You do the snoring for this establishment, you human calliope.”

“No one ever called me that before,” said Rob sadly. “Really, Evan, I don’t believe that I snore. I think you dream it.”

“Oh, you do, eh?” muttered Evan as he turned over. “I just wish you had to listen to yourself sometimes!”

Rob won his wager, for Evan, if he didn’t actually snore, at least proved conclusively within the designated time that he was sound asleep. Half an hour later he opened his eyes during a wakeful moment and saw Rob still at work on the cigar-box. How late he labored with it Evan never knew, but in the morning it was finished. Evan saw it the first thing after getting up, read the inscription and howled loudly and gleefully, but not loud enough to awake Rob who was still sleeping the sleep of one who has kept late hours.