"Yo's to keep yo' hands up longer dan yo' can keep yo' moufs shut!" scowled
the black man, his ugly streak showing once more.
"It makes me think of the way we used to play football," laughed Reade,
though there was not much mirth in his chuckle.
"Shut yo' mouf, or Ah done gib yo' plenty to think erbout!" ordered Sambo
angrily.
That word "football" set Dick Prescott to tingling. He knew there was some
hidden meaning in what Tom had said.
"Are you trying to signal us, Sambo?" queried the army officer.
That word "signal" was intended only for Tom's ear, for Lieutenant Prescott
was beginning to guess at the truth.
"On the gridiron, on the gridiron!" hummed Tom, audibly, as he tried
clumsily to fit the words to the refrain of a popular song.
Dick Prescott was "getting warm" on the scent of the hidden meaning.
"Shut yo' mouf!" gruffly commanded the lack. "Ah doan' wantah tell yo' dat
again, neider."
"Right foot---high foot!" chanted Tom.
Mentally Dick Prescott jumped as though he had been shot. "Right
foot---high foot" had been one of their old kicking signals on the Gridley
High School eleven!
Lieutenant Dick Prescott fairly throbbed as he now understood the covered
signal.
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