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Updated: June 23, 2025
Stretched at ease upon a sofa, in gown and slippers, Harker Brayton smiled as he read the foregoing sentence in old Morryster's Marvells of Science. "The only marvel in the matter," he said to himself, "is that the wise and learned in Morryster's day should have believed such nonsense as is rejected by most of even the ignorant in ours."
"It ought to have been a whitewash against a small-fry crowd like Brayton," Coach Luce confided to Captain Purcell. "What was our weak spot, Coach?" "Have you an opinion, Captain?" asked the coach. "Yes, but I'm afraid I'm wrong." "What is your idea?" "Why, it seemed to me, Mr. Luce, that Ripley went stiff at just the wrong times.
It seemed strange to Whitey that Cal Brayton who looked so merry should be so solemn, and Walt Lampson who looked so solemn should be so merry. After sleeping for about twelve hours at a stretch for three nights Whitey might be said to be a trifle rested and able to look around and take an interest in his surroundings.
Besides, he had taken her son to his home and heart, and had given every one to understand that this young Addison Brayton was to be the future possessor of that vast wealth. To come to the point at once, Mrs. P. Crandall Crane 'sighted them, and mentally appropriated the young gentleman for her own Lucinda.
In the near distance the football squad was finishing up its practice in the last moments of daylight. Brayton was captain of the Army eleven, and was a good deal discouraged. "Queer idea Haynes had!" muttered Dick to himself. Then he turned back to his desk and to the neglected chapter on "Sound" in natural philosophy. Dick, however, was not fated to study much.
"Greetings, old ramrod!" called a low but pleasant voice, as First Classman Brayton hurried up, grasping Dick's hand. Then Greg came in for a hearty shake. Brayton, who had been a cadet corporal when the two boys from Gridley were plebes, now wore the imposing chevrons of a cadet captain.
"Five to two is the safest margin we've had yet," he confided to those who listened to him at the High School. "More than that, we had Brayton tied down so that, at no time in the game, did they have any show to break the score against us. Now, if Luce and Purcell fix it up for me to pitch the real games of the season" "Oh, cut it out, Rip," advised one listener, good-naturedly.
It was old Steve Brayton, who had fired from the cabin at Isom, and dropping his Winchester, he stumbled forward with the butt of his pistol held out to Raines. A Marcum appeared on the other side with the muzzle of his Winchester down. Raines raised both hands then and imperiously called on every man who had a weapon to come forward and give it up.
'Pears like that old hog ain't satisfied shootin' me hisself." Stretching his arms with a yawn, Steve winked at Isom and moved to the door. The boy followed him outside. "We're goin' fer ole Brayton about the dark o' the next moon, boy," he said. "He's sort o' s'picious now, 'n' we'll give him a leetle time to git tame. I'll have a bran'-new Winchester fer ye, Isom.
It's really too bad that Prescott and Holmes, in their first game, are put against such a strong, clever assault." "Well, we can't put Haynes in now, unless Prescott should be injured," replied Brayton. "Haynes?" repeated the Army coach. "I'm glad he's not on your line today. Training and all, Haynes isn't the man to match Prescott, even without training."
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