THE TROLLEY STOCK -- CONCLUSION
The grandstands were trembling and swaying under the foot-stamping, yelling crowd that enthusiastically cheered the victorious Kentfield cadets. Dick felt as if it was all a dream until he found himself half lifted to his feet and felt his comrades clapping him on the back, yelling congratulations in his ears, while a dozen or more were trying to shake his hand at once, for the gridiron had been overwhelmed by a riotous throng of substitutes and spectators as soon as the final whistle blew.
"Oh, Dick! Dick!" cried Paul, limping up to his chum.
"We—we did 'em!" gasped the captain.
"We did 'em?" questioned Dutton, also among the cripples. "You did 'em you mean, Dick Hamilton. It's your team from start to finish!"
"Oh, bosh!" cried our hero.
There was a lull in the cheering on the stands, and suddenly, in the silence, there broke out the shrill voice of an old man—evidently one unused to football games.
"By heck!" he cried, "That was a great run! I never see a better one! Golly, but he scooted. This is the first time I ever see one of these games, but it won't be the last! Who was it made that home run."
So still was it that Dick could hear the question and answer for he was not far from the stand.
"It wasn't a home run," some one informed the old man, "it was a run for a touchdown, and Dick Hamilton, the Kentfield captain, made it."
"Dick Hamilton? Where is he now? I want to see him. I've got something to say to him."
As in a dream Dick wondered where he had heard that voice before. Then like a flash it came to him—Enos Duncaster! But Mr. Duncaster at a football game—one between teams of the "tin soldiers" whom he affected to despise. It seemed impossible. Dick looked to where the old man was now vigorously applauding though every one else was quiet. There could be no mistake. It was Mr. Duncaster—the holder of the trolley stock. Yet how came he at the game?
"I want to see him. I want to see that Dick Hamilton!" Mr. Duncaster was saying. "I came to see him—I've got important news for him, and I'm in a hurry."
"You'd better go to him, Dick," advised Paul. "Maybe it isn't too late about that stock."
Dick felt a thrill of hope. At intervals of the game he had half regretted his decision to play instead of going to keep the appointment with the eccentric rich man. He had feared it would be too late, and that his message to Mr. Duncaster would set that peculiar individual against him.
Dick turned his steps toward where Mr. Duncaster stood in the grandstand. As the youth passed along he was congratulated on all sides.
"Great run, Hamilton! Great!" was called again and again.
"I want to shake hands with you, Dick Hamilton!" exclaimed Mr. Duncaster heartily. "And I want to say I've got a different opinion of you boys than I had. I guess I was mistaken.
"Just after I sent you that message, saying your father could have the stock, I picked up a magazine and read an account of a football game. It was the first I'd ever read, and thinks I to myself I'd like to see it. Then, when I got your message saying you were going to play, and couldn't come to see me I made up my mind to come to see you. I did, and by heck! it was great—great! But your run was the best of all.
"First I was a little put out because you didn't come to see me, and I half made up my mind to give the stock to Mr. Porter. But I see now why you wanted to stay and play the game. You couldn't desert, and by heck! I'm glad you won! Shake hands again!"
Dick did so, in a mist of tears that would not be kept back. The reaction was almost too much for him. To win the championship, and in the next breath to be told that his father's plans need not fail, was almost too much.
He managed to stammer out his thanks to Enos Duncaster, whom many spectators were regarding curiously.
"You cadets are all right!" the old man was saying. "It takes more spunk than I imagined to smash into each other that way. I'm coming to all the football games after this—that is as soon as I get my health back. I'm off for Europe now. I've just about got time to catch my train.
"Here's the stock your father wants, Dick Hamilton. I've got it all ready for you in a bundle, and inside is the address of my lawyers. You can——"
"But the pay——" stammered Dick.
"That's all right—you can send it to my lawyers. I'm in a hurry. Now good-bye—I'm off to the hot springs!" And once more he wrung Dick's hand. "That was a great run—great!" cried Mr. Duncaster, as he made his way off the stand.
"Three cheers for Dick Hamilton!" called Ray Dutton.
And how the people did cheer!
"And three for Mr. Duncaster—a convert to football!" shouted Paul Drew, and if they were not as loud as the first cheers they must have warmed the old man's heart.
Dick sent a telegram to his father conveying double good news—about the football victory and about the possession of the stock.
"I guess your troubles will be over now dad," wired Dick.
They were seemingly for a time, but later other financial matters involved Dick and his father, and how they turned out, and how Dick met them will be told in the next volume of this series, to be called "Dick Hamilton's Touring Car; Or, A Young Millionaire's Race for a Fortune." In it we shall meet Dick and his friends and some of his enemies, and learn how he triumphed over the latter.
There was great rejoicing in Kentfield that night when the team broke training and the suits were burned. True to his word, Dick provided the finest banquet the cadets had ever had spread in their honor. There were speeches innumerable, and the coaches were given their full share of praise.
But it was toward Dick that most eyes were turned and he was called on again and again to respond to a toast.
"Well, which do you feel better over, Dick?" asked Paul that night, as they went to their room, "winning the championship or getting the stock from Mr. Duncaster?"
"Both," replied the young millionaire with a smile. "But it certainly was great to convert Mr. Duncaster into a gridiron rooter; eh, Grit?"
And Grit whined in delight, jumping up on Dick, while the two chums sat down in the little room and played the great game all over again.