"FOR THE GOOD OF THE SCHOOL"
A few days later, Bob Somers, hard at work studying in his "den," was summoned down-stairs to the 'phone.
"Now I wonder what's up?" he murmured, somewhat impatiently. "Haven't much time to prepare for the next exercise in logarithms."
As soon as he placed the receiver to his ear the gruff voice of Tom Clifton began coming over the wire. And there was a note of pent-up excitement in it which instantly caught the captain's attention.
"I say, Bob, what do you think? Do you know what 'Crackers' Brown has done? Never heard of such nerve in my life."
"Tell me quick!" laughed Bob.
"He's posted up a big notice on the gymnasium door calling for candidates for another team. How does that strike you?"
"I suppose there is nothing to prevent him, Tom."
"You haven't heard all. The notice says that as the regular nine has been tried and found wanting the interests of the school demand that his players be given an equal show with the others."
"I had an idea something like this was coming. Who told you?"
"Benny Wilkins. Had the thing copied word for word in his note-book. May be a joke, you say? No; nothing of the sort! It's an actual fact. Gee! Maybe I don't feel mad enough to punch 'Crackers' Brown!"
Bob Somers' face remained unruffled.
"I don't think we want to indulge in any real warfare, Tom," he sent through the transmitter. "'Crackers' plan may fizzle out. Besides, I think we can count upon having the majority of the fellows on our side."
"But Benny Wilkins says a whole lot are beginning to waver. He thinks there'll be a sizzling hot time before many weeks. Aleck Parks and Owen Lawrence are buttonholing every fellow in sight, telling 'em how the grounds'll be lost unless Bob listens to reason."
"What does 'Crackers' want us to do?"
"Put Roycroft, Lawrence and a few others on the team, and discharge Charlie Blake, Alf Boggs, and—and"—the tone of Tom's voice seemed hot enough to scorch the wire—"myself. Honest fact, Bob—I don't know whether I can keep from punching him or not. What are you going to do about it?"
"No Central American disturbance at the Kingswood High," said Bob, dryly. "What am I going to do? Get right back up-stairs and finish my work."
"But we can't let a thing like this go on. Show the first sign of weakening, Bob, and the wavering'll become a stampede most as bad as any of the cattle rushes on the plains."
"We don't propose to show any signs of weakening. It's up to the coach to do what he thinks best. I'll stick by what he says."
"Oh, I can see you're taking it pretty cool, Bob. But I was never hotter in my life. Aleck Parks had the nerve to call me 'Vanitas' to-day. Wonder where he got that from? I'm ready to put up the stiffest kind of fight for the club."
"So are we all, Tom," exclaimed Bob. "Going around to tell Dave, are you? Good! Have to get to work now. So-long!"
The captain snapped the receiver back in place.
"Well, that's going some," he soliloquized. "A nice little scheme of 'Crackers' Brown to carry his point. But if he thinks he can force the issue in this way he may be a trifle surprised."
The bold move of Brown made a decided sensation. The big poster was eagerly read by all factions. Hot arguments waxed to such extremes that bosom friends soon passed each other without speaking. Some of the freshmen seemed on the point of backing up their opinions with fistic arguments. The original feeling that the Ramblers had too much power broke out afresh; and through all the noise, excitement and confusion Brown went serenely along, doing far more execution with his calm methods than any loud, boisterous talking could have accomplished.
"For the good of the school," was his slogan.
Purple and white pennants with this motto began to appear. The opposition to the Ramblers, though still in the minority, was undoubtedly gaining strength. Cries for "Roycroft! Lawrence!" and several other candidates who had failed to pass Coach Steele's critical tests frequently rose on the campus.
Brown's call for volunteers met with a hearty response, and the self-appointed coach, determining that no time should be lost in putting his plans into execution, had his squad out within a couple of days. Brown's preference was evidently for big, husky chaps.
"Sometimes the size of a fellow has an effect on the opposing team," he said to Owen Lawrence. "A hundred and seventy-five pounds of bone and muscle tearing along the base lines often does more good than the skill of a hundred and thirty pound stripling.
"Then, chaps like that have bigger hands to grab the ball; and when they crack out a hit it has some steam behind it.
"And, honestly, whenever I see Blake making a dash for a hot liner it puts me in mind of an item like this: 'Baseball player seriously injured by a bounder.'"
"Ha, ha!" laughed Lawrence. "The idea of Steele putting him on instead of Roycroft!"
"Now the big fellow will have all the chance he wants," exclaimed Brown, decidedly. "I'll stimulate his bump of ambition by making him captain of the nine."
"Capital idea! I suppose the Somers crowd will entrench themselves behind the regularity racket. That set of iron-clad by-laws Tom Clifton got up doesn't recognize any little outlaw scheme like ours."
"Red tape versus common sense. I take it that the school has some say in things of this sort. If Steele will agree to take on the players we suggest—all right; if not"—"Crackers" spoke as mildly as though ordering a plate of pie—"the worst insurrection in the history of the school is about to begin."
"The fellows'll soon be coming over to our side so fast that it will make you think of an avalanche in the Alps," predicted Owen. "What's that?" He put his hand to his ear. Faint cries of "Rah, rah, rah for Somers!" were coming over the still air from somewhere in the distance. "That kind of thing only makes it more interesting," added the new student, with a grin.
"Let's get over on the field. There's a big bunch ready for practice," said Brown.
Every member of the regular club was present when the "Outlaws," as Benny Wilkins had dubbed the new set of players, got to work.
Tom Clifton surveyed the proceedings with a heavy scowl, treating with silent scorn, for the most part, the jibes which were occasionally flung toward him by members of the opposition.
"Honest, Bob, it makes me almost boil over," he confessed. "Listen to that buttermilk voice of Brown's!" He turned, as a hand was laid on his shoulder. "Oh! How are you, Steele! What do you think of this?"
"I'm sorry there's disaffection in the school," answered the coach; "otherwise I'm prepared to enjoy the afternoon."
Things on the lot were not as they had been when the other players alone occupied it. Sounds of heated arguments often rose above the hum of voices.
Fortunately there was enough room for the two clubs to practice without interference, and the regulars and "outlaws" seldom came within speaking distance.
On this occasion Coach Brown and his men proved to be the great attraction. A steady stream of schoolboys ebbed and flowed on the lot, eagerly watching every move of the candidates.
"Now we'll see some ball tossing that is ball tossing!" cried Aleck Parks.
"This does me good," said Luke Phelps. "There's Earl Roycroft over there. Looks big enough for a hold-out major league player, eh? No fanning the air for Earl."
"Who do the Willie-boys play next?" asked Parks.
"Oh, some club from Engleton. Don't know much about 'em; but Mercer says they are players, though the Stars waltzed over one day, and, even without Tippen in the box, put 'em in wrong to the tune of seven to three."
"Then Nat's team hasn't lost a game yet. Here, Checkered-Cap, you don't belong on this field. Skip out!"
"Oh, you saucy thing! Who's going to make me?" asked Victor Collins.
"I will—if your line of talk doesn't suit," threatened Aleck.
"Then you'll have to grow some. Gee! There's been an awful lot of near-scraps to-day. In about a week I guess you'll be fighting all over the field. Rah, rah, rah for Somers! How does that strike you, Sourface? If it isn't strong enough I'll blow a bugle call."
An irritatingly long blast immediately sounded.
"Ta, ta! I go! 'Crackers' has a buttermilk voice. Got that from Clifton. Ta, ta!"
"He's a nice specimen for you," growled Parks, as Victor's small form mingled with the crowd. "Wow—look at that hit! Who cracked out that one?"
"Bush. And he's a likely one for pitcher. If anything, he's stronger than Roycroft."
As the afternoon progressed the shouts constantly swelled out into a greater volume. Little processions of Somers adherents moved recklessly through the enemy's camp, yelling lustily for their favorites.
"If we only win from Engleton," remarked Sam Randall, as they gathered in the gym on the day of the game, "it may stop some of that foolish fussing."
"Whatever happens I suppose I'll get another eight-column article from Benny Wilkins," sighed the editor of the "Reflector." "Still, I've adopted one of his suggestions. The 'Note-Book' page will hereafter be a feature of the paper."
"Goodness gracious!" murmured Tom. "Now maybe he won't do some strutting around."
"Say, Bob," put in Charlie Blake, "I've been thinking pretty hard over matters—can't help hearing a lot of things the fellows say, you know"—he glanced toward Roger Steele—"and this affair has been getting on my nerves. Now, I'm willing to step out for Roycroft, Lawrence, or anybody else who——"
"What! And be labeled a quitter?" howled Tom. "I didn't expect it of you, Charlie—not this time."
The emphasis laid on the last words brought a flush to Blake's face.
"If there weren't so much at stake maybe I shouldn't be talking of such a thing," he retorted. "But when a chap has it dinned into his ears every day that he isn't doing the right thing by the school, why——"
"Oh, you make me tired!" scoffed Tom. "Who wants you to get off the team? No one but a lot of soreheads."
Blake gloomily picked his favorite bat from the rack.
"I don't know, Tom," he sighed. "Some of the boys who used to be pretty good shouters for our crowd have flopped over to the other side."
"A lot of weaklings!" jeered Tom.
"Just go about your work as though nothing had happened," advised Steele. "Now's the time to show what you're made of. I know a good player when I see one. Don't let this noisy Brown crowd get your nerve—that's all."
Charlie Blake cast a grateful look at the coach.
"I'm glad to hear you speak that way," he said. "But—but—somehow——"
Steele slapped him heartily on the shoulder.
"A little self-consciousness, Blake, is your only trouble," he interrupted. "Get in the way of paying no attention to any one. And if you do happen to make an error just remember that the highest salaried player in the big leagues is occasionally bound to do the same."
"The chap who doesn't take things too seriously is generally the one who gets there," said Dave. "It's the easiest way to prevent your nerves from getting all in a tension."
"By George, that's right!" cried Charlie.
"I knew you'd come around to our way of thinking," said Tom, delightedly.
The squad felt that a great deal depended upon the outcome of the game with Engleton. And each member was chuck full of courage and determination as he sallied out upon the field.
They found the Engleton lads rather older and heavier than themselves. One of the principal characteristics of their coach, a boisterous young man named Finn, was the habit of making humorous remarks, and, as his voice was of a caliber suitable for an auctioneer, his jokes sent ripples of mirth all over the field.
The game, as summed up tersely by Alf Boggs, was:
"A nothing to three fizzle, with the high school holding the doughnut."
His disconsolate audience was gathered before the fence near home plate, their sad eyes showing no signs of brightening. Even several exceptionally humorous remarks by Mr. Finn passed unnoticed.
Suddenly they became aware of the fact that something not down on the bill was taking place. Dan Brown, Owen Lawrence and Earl Roycroft, followed by all the "outlaw" candidates, were winding in a serpentine fashion—this movement being occasioned by the constantly shifting crowds—toward home plate.
"Mr. Finn," began "Crackers," "I'd like to have a word with you."
"Nobody who ever did got stung," said the coach, pleasantly.
"We"—"Crackers" waved his arm to include the grinning group behind him—"wish to ask a small favor."
"It can't be too small to suit me," laughed Mr. Finn.
"I am forming a baseball nine——"
"What! Is there a baseball nine at this school?" cried the coach, in well-feigned astonishment.
"We wish to state most emphatically that there is—just one; no more," returned "Crackers," "and our great desire is to prove it."
The members of the Engleton team crowded around.
"How are you going to do it, Jack?" asked one, familiarly.
"Well, Bill, it's this way." Brown beamed benignly over the steel frame of his spectacles. "If you have any open dates for next week, and are willing to play us, the thing is as good as done."
"How about it, Finn?" asked the captain of the Engletons.
The eyes of the visiting coach roamed over the forms of the "outlaws."
"Suits me all right, Beebe," he answered.
"We can't thank you too much, Mr. Finn," said "Crackers," mildly. "Here's a chap"—his hand indicated Roycroft—"who is warranted to bat anything hittable over the out-fielders' heads. We have some birds in this bunch. Bush, our pitcher, requires only nine balls to put out a side; he nearly always does it. We've an infield that a ball wouldn't go by if it had a chance. Baseball as we play it can only be seen at the big league games. I shall ask our esteemed friend, Mr. Bill, to remember what I say."
"What's the name of your nine?" asked Mr. "Bill."
"The High School 'Hopes.'"
"We'll promise to dash 'em," grinned the other.
"Commiseration for your feelings after the game prevents me from making a tart reply," said Brown. "What day shall we come over?"
Finn consulted a memorandum book.
"Next Thursday. Our lot is close to the largest ash heap in the county. I may add, too, that some of the fiercest goats at liberty often chase players off the bases. Bring all your nerve along. You'll need it."
"Good!" cried "Crackers," in high spirits. "Why are we doing this, fellows?"
"For the good of the school!" bawled Lawrence.