A DECISION
"I hope you understand, Somers, that I have nothing against you fellows. Nobody ever heard me squeal. But if the school wants me to play what can I do?"
Earl Roycroft, with an expression of embarrassment on his good-natured face, was speaking to Bob Somers, not more than an hour after the meeting on the campus.
"I don't blame you, Roycroft," answered Bob, as the two walked along Central Avenue. "I'm sure the rest won't, either."
"Not even Tom?" queried the captain of the "Hopes," with a faint smile.
"On reflection, I'm not so sure about that," grinned Bob.
"We're old friends, Somers; and I hope this"—Earl paused. A troubled look shone in his eyes—"this unfortunate muddle won't cause any trouble between us."
"It isn't going to."
"Well, it must go against the grain to see one of your old chums on the opposition line-up. Honestly, Somers, don't you think"—Earl hesitated again—"that you'd better—well—reconsider this matter? It's a fact, Somers: you're losing supporters every day. The thought of saying good-bye to that field has put such a scrapping spirit into the boys that they're ready to fight to a finish."
Bob reflected a moment before answering.
"Then you mean that we should yield to popular clamor?"
"No, that isn't it. I hope—I hope you won't be offended if I speak plainly." A smile from Bob encouraged the rival captain to continue. "You chaps have been traveling about so much you haven't had a chance to keep in the game like some of the others. I don't say you can't play good ball—mind. When your crowd was practicing, as candidates for the team, you looked good to all of us. But, somehow"—Earl became considerably embarrassed again; his eyes shifted from the frank gaze of his companion—"I suppose I'll have to finish it," he sighed—"you don't seem to be of a quite strong enough caliber to truly represent the school. Now, Bob, it's out; and I guess you feel mighty hot about it?"
"Not a bit, Earl. I admire your honesty and candor. I'll agree that things look rather discouraging. Still,"—the captain seemed to weigh his words—"don't you think your very contention that we've not had as much practice as the others is an argument in our favor?"
"How?"
"Because, in a little time, we'll round into shape. The nine is improving steadily, though some of the fellows are so excited and hasty they can't see it."
Roycroft shook his head.
"I don't doubt you are sincere in feeling that way, Somers," he said, slowly, "but the boys couldn't be made to think so. Then, again, you've lost your batting eye. Mr. Rupert Barry has kicked enough about that, I'm sure."
"I've heard about it," laughed Bob, dryly.
"And some of the fellows feel sure—I don't like to say it, Somers—that you're not playing as well as you did a couple of years ago. Tom Clifton, too, though he's done some pretty good work, doesn't seem to have the necessary physical strength."
Earl looked searchingly at his companion, expecting each instant to see a gleam of anger in his eye. Bob, however, gave no indication that his feelings were disturbed.
"One thing, Roycroft," he said: "you spoke about our traveling around so much we couldn't keep in good trim. This applies only to Dave, Tom and myself. There are six others in every game."
"Sometimes one man is enough to lose a contest," answered Roycroft, dryly.
"You're right there," grinned Bob.
"Aren't you going to listen to my advice, Somers?"
"Why, I'm not running things, Earl. I'm only captain of the team."
"Come now, Bob, don't try to put up any such ridiculous bluff as that. If you wanted the team reorganized it would probably be done."
"Who do you want fired?" asked Bob, bluntly.
"Blake, Clifton, Boggs and maybe a couple of others," answered Roycroft, with equal bluntness. "Think it over, Somers. I'll leave you here. Sure you don't feel sore about what I've said?"
"Not a bit of it," responded Bob, heartily. "It hasn't ruffled a hair. So-long, Earl. Yes; I'll think it over."
On the same evening all five members of the Rambler Club met in Bob Somers' study to discuss the situation. The languid air which usually characterized Dave Brandon was entirely absent.
"We must take a firm hand, Bob," he said, emphatically. "The only question to consider is this: are we merely stubborn and mistaken, or is our confidence in the team so justified that we can feel sure of final success?"
"If our nine isn't quite up to the 'Hopes' now I am certain that later on it will be a great deal better," said Bob.
"How did they manage to get such a good team?"
"That's easy to figure out," replied Dick Travers. "Wherever he could, 'Crackers' selected the biggest men. Most of the chaps belong to the roughest bunch in school—an unruly lot. They have plenty of brute strength, and are sort of carrying things by rough-house methods."
"But the club can play and is likely to go right on winning," said Dave, emphatically.
"Oh, I'm not saying anything against their ability," admitted Dick. "But outside of Roycroft and several others, it is chiefly confined to hitting."
"They can line out the ball—and that's about all they can do," supplemented Tom.
"If it wins games it's enough," returned Dave. "Now suppose we could beat the 'Hopes' to smithereens. Would you play 'em?"
Dave broke into a broad grin, but the others looked very solemn indeed.
"It's awful to feel that lots of fellows think we're crawling," said Bob, "but, in that case, perhaps—perhaps—we would."
After a short pause, Dave continued:
"Since the organization of the Rambler Club the crowd has run into some pretty stirring adventures, and has had quite a few thrills." He smiled quizzically. "I refer you to the history now appearing in the 'Reflector.'"
"Never read better writing in my life; it's stunning!" cried Tom.
"Thanks! Now let's get back to the issue. We've had things pretty much our own way. All of us graduate this year. We expected to leave school in a blaze of glory, with the winning of Mr. Rupert Barry's field as the final achievement of our student days. I agree with you, Bob: in a short time the regulars will be a stronger nine than the Brown aggregation."
"Why not just call his bluff and play them?" exclaimed Tom, excitedly.
"Oh, no," said Dave, with a twinkle in his eye. "They might beat us. And if they did we'd find ourselves squelched and thrown on the scrap heap."
"And so fast that we'd never recover from it," added Sam Randall. "Our crowd would have the pleasure of standing around watching the 'Hopes' play in the inter-scholastic series."
"There are a lot of chaps in the school who would help 'Crackers' throw us out just for the sake of the excitement. Nothing to do, fellows, except to fight the thing right out to a finish."
"And we can hold our end up, too!" cried Tom. "Of all the mean chumps I ever ran across that Earl Roycroft is the biggest. What do you think? He had the nerve to speak to me this evening—honest, Bob, I came mighty near calling him down—said he wanted to explain things; and I told him he needn't mind."
"Oh, Earl's all right," laughed Bob.
"All wrong, you mean. Suppose Steele should put him and a few others on the team? Do you think it would stop 'Crackers' Brown's hollering? Not on your life! He'd groan like a wheezy old locomotive for something else."
"Just my idea," agreed Dick Travers.
"Then I gather that we're going to stick it out, eh, Bob?" said Dave Brandon.
"Yes!" answered the captain, with emphasis. "I have studied the playing of the 'Hopes' carefully. Roger Steele agrees with me that they won't get much further in the fine points of the game."
"And that's just the thing we're trying for," said Tom.
Bob beat a tattoo on the floor with his foot.
"We were a bit rusty, fellows," he confessed. "It's taken us longer to get into condition than I expected. I feel that we are nowhere near our true form yet."
"I never thought things would turn out like this," said Tom, disconsolately. "Nearly every time I pass one of the 'Pie-eaters and doughnut crowd' they say something mean. Good thing they can't get my nerve like they do Charlie Blake's once in a while."
"Well, then, it's settled," said Sam. "We'll just let the opposition howl itself hoarse."
"If they'd only stop their yelp and let us alone it would show a lot more sense," remarked Dick Travers. "How in thunder do they expect us to win while they're kicking up such a row and knocking us on every side? But never mind; they can't bluff us."
"You bet they can't!" cried Tom.
"Boys, I fear I have a big supply of the weaknesses of human nature," said Dave. "I'm actually stirred up about this thing; I'm in a fighting mood. Why are we acting this way?"
"For the good of the school!" laughed Bob.
"And for our own good, too!"
"This little meeting has put us straight on the affair," remarked Sam Randall. "Our only chance to win out is to stick together. The student body elected us to take charge of the athletic interests of the High; and, in doing so, they gave us rights which we must now force them to recognize. If they have common sense enough to do so, the rest ought to be easy."
The boys enjoyed the evening more than any had anticipated, and, on taking leave of one another, each firmly resolved to show the enemy a bold, determined front.