"But--but--I don't understand," stammered Bill Sykes, looking from one to the other in a bewildered manner. "How did you get them? Why do you bring them to me? What's the big idea, anyway?" "Never mind how we got them," replied Sandy. "The fact is, I have them. And I'm offering them to you free, gratis, for nothing. As to the big idea, it's this. Lenox High has done us dirt. It's thrown three of us out just on account of a bit of a lark. It's barred another of us from athletics just because he roughed it a little with that boob, Garry Grayson. Is it any wonder we're sore? Who wouldn't be that had any spirit? We want to get even with the school that's treated us that way, and we don't know anything that would hit it harder than to have the team it's so proud of beaten by Wimbledon. There you have the whole thing." "I can see why you feel sore," said Bill slowly. "But as to my taking the signals, I--I don't know. It's a thing that isn't done. It doesn't seem sportsmanlike." "Oh, cut out that sportsmanlike stuff," counseled the tempter. "You want to win, don't you? You're looking out for the best interests of Wimbledon, aren't you? Don't be too namby-pamby. It never got any one anywhere. You owe it to your school to do everything you can to win. Lenox would do it quickly enough, if the situation were reversed." "Besides," put in Lent, "it isn't as if you yourself had deliberately set to work to get the signals. Some people might criticize you, if you did that. But when they're handed to you on a silver tray, as it were, you'd be just a plain fool not to take them. There's such a thing as standing up so straight that you fall over backward." "It would be different, too, if we were asking you to sell us Wimbledon's signals," put in Sandy. "Then it would be all right for you to refuse to hurt your own school. But we're not asking you to hurt Wimbledon. We're giving you a chance to help her." Seeing that his sophistry was having some effect, Sandy played his trump card. "Not only will you be helping your school, but you'll be helping yourself financially," he said. "I don't mind telling you that my friends and I are going to put up all the money we can rake together on Wimbledon to win, and we'll see that you get a good slice of all the cash that we pull in. To show you that I'm not bluffing--" here he pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and took off several--"here's twenty-five dollars on account. That's only a fraction of what you'll get, if you put this thing through." He laid the bills on Bill Sykes's lap. It was a strong temptation to a boy who was compelled to count every cent he spent. Bill succumbed, after several minutes' hesitation, compromising with his conscience by telling himself that, after all, he was helping his school. Sandy grinned evilly in the semi-darkness.