REBELLION
"You can put your request in writing, Brown; but, honestly, I don't think it will do a bit of good."
Sam Randall, president of the athletic association and member of the Rambler Club, seated at his desk in a room which adjoined the gymnasium, gazed squarely into his visitor's face.
It was late on the same afternoon, for Brown had determined to force the issue at once.
Within the last year Sam Randall had grown to be quite a young man in appearance. All the lines about his clean-cut face tending to firmness had become accentuated, and he had a quiet, decisive manner which even had its effect on the imperturbable Brown.
"I'm to understand, then, that my challenge has been thrown down flat?"
Sam Randall toyed with a paper-weight on his desk.
"No, I can't say that, Brown. I'm only one of the officers of the association. The others must speak for themselves."
"But you, as president, ought to have a great deal of influence," suggested "Crackers," slowly pacing the floor. "I tell you plainly, the fellows are getting worked up; they won't stand for any dictatorial methods. Aren't you going to use your influence to prevent the explosion that one more defeat would certainly bring? It might blow nearly every member of the organization out of his job."
"Ah!" said Sam.
His keen eyes showed no sign of wavering.
"You know how to take a hot proposition very coolly," said "Crackers," in soft tones. "Is there any use of arguing the matter?"
"I don't think so."
"Neither do I. But, to make sure, I'll hunt up the rest of the officers, and see what they think about having the match shoved so close to the gunpowder."
"Remember this," retorted Randall: "Some one has just said that the fellows won't stand for any dictatorial methods. You must include yourself as well as the rest. So-long."
"Crackers" immediately reported to his lieutenants outside the gymnasium.
"Well?" queried Lawrence, eagerly.
"He won't listen to reason," said Brown, shaking his head gravely. "His abruptness almost pained me."
"Why not call all this thing off?" asked Earl Roycroft, with a disturbed expression. "Suppose we give 'em another week?"
Owen Lawrence eyed him scornfully.
"That's a fine way to talk," he growled. "If you're going to back down at the very start we'd better know it now."
The big captain of the "Hopes" flushed.
"Of course I'm not," he answered, hastily. "All I want is to see everybody get a square deal."
"That stout gentleman who poked his delicate frame into the gym this afternoon about typifies the actions of the Ramblers," remarked Brown. "He has an idea that every one must bend to his will. So do they. Why, in that room back there, I began to think I was talking to the head of some big corporation doing business in a dozen states."
"There's no use chirping all day. Let's get busy," broke in Lawrence, impatiently. "What's the first move, Brown?"
"A poster announcing our intentions would be about the proper caper," answered Brown, reflectively. "I'll consult my special artist, Mr. Benny Wilkins."
"What! Can he draw?"
"He may not have Dave Brandon's a-mazing talent, but, at any rate, his sketches don't need explanations to go with 'em. I'll jolly him into making one—that is, unless the other High Moguls of the association overrule the iron hand back there."
Before supper time Dan Brown had managed to interview Harry Spearman, Dick Travers and the others.
As Sam Randall had predicted, he got no encouragement.
"That settles it," murmured "Crackers." "The next thing is to see Benny Wilkins."
Benny was decidedly surprised when the coach of the "Hopes" called upon him that evening. He was also much pleased.
"Gee whiz, Brown, this is going to boost me into a person of national importance. Of course I can make the poster; I can draw even with my eyes shut."
"And color, too?" asked Brown.
"Sure; coloring is easy for me. I know all about it. Here, pull up a chair, Mr. Brown, and I'll make the sketch right now."
After a great deal of thought and much hard work, Benny evolved an idea which met with the chief "outlaw's" approval. On one side the design represented an armor-clad knight with his heel on the neck of a prostrate boy who was apparently yelling with all his might.
"The chap on the ground represents the school," explained Benny.
"Great idea!" exclaimed Brown. "What's the knight?"
"A figure representing tyranny and oppression," answered Benny, glibly. "I haven't studied history for nothing, have I, Brown?"
"I'm agreeably surprised," murmured "Crackers." "I really didn't expect it of you, Benny. The Ramblers are shown in their true light at last. What's that mass of lines on the right—a house on fire?"
"Goodness gracious, no! That's going to be the Goddess of Reason, enthroned, bowing to the will of the school. I'll stick your phiz on the front row, Brown, and the lady'll be giving you the glad hand."
"Stunning idea!" said Brown. "I guess if the government ever catches sight of this poster they'll have you design all their new postage stamps. When will it be done?"
"I'll bring it around to the school to-morrow morning."
"Good! And I'll put on the lettering."
Benny aided the gas company considerably that night, never stopping work until a piece of heavy wrapping-paper two by three feet had been liberally flooded with color.
To be sure, it looked a little odd in the morning; for the surfaces which seemed so delicately yellow at night proved to be of a startling brilliancy.
But the poster, mounted on a board, attached to a stout stick, and planted in a prominent position on the campus, made the sensation for which Brown had hoped.
Pushing, jostling crowds quickly gathered before it. Every one seemed to be asking questions or answering them. All through the school an inquiry found its way:
"Say, have you seen that poster?"
Those who hadn't quickly joined the army of those who had.
Only the calm counsel of Bob Somers and Dave Brandon prevented some of their hot-headed supporters from hurling the offending object to the ground and trampling it to pieces.
"The drawing is very good indeed," said Dave. "Benny's an artist. He ought to be encouraged."
"How can you talk about the mean little duffer that way, Dave?" exclaimed Tom, wrathfully.
"Don't take it too seriously, Tom. We haven't lost our jobs yet."
"All the same, I'm afraid I'll have to get out if the rumpus keeps up much longer," reflected Charlie Blake.
Brown's announcement called for a meeting that afternoon under an enormous elm on the campus. His object was to explain to the students the "Hopes'" contention that they had the better team and by gaining recruits compel the regulars to yield to their demands.
When class exercises were over "Crackers," Roycroft and Owen Lawrence, followed by every member of the "outlaws," in uniform, made directly for the tree.
A dense, excited crowd of students awaited them. A rousing cheer went up.
"Rah, rah, rah for Roycroft! Hurrah for Brown and Lawrence!" was carried off on a surging sea of sound.
The Somers crowd, glum but determined-looking, seldom voiced a protest.
Dan Brown promptly mounted a box placed under the wide-spreading branches of the tree. The excitement and tumult found no reflection on his face.
"Fellows," he began, in a calm, even voice, "the school is going to get those grounds!"
A burst of wild cheering came from his followers.
"In order to do this great work for the High we've been obliged to match extraordinary conditions with extraordinary methods. Fellows, we must determine which shall rule: red tape and regularity, or common sense."
"Common sense, common sense!" roared an admiring contingent.
"So say we all! There's material enough here to form a nine which could trim any team in the section."
Another salvo of cheers rang out.
"Some fellows seem to have the silly idea that we're doing all this to stir up trouble. I was impolitely told yesterday to meander over to Guffin's and hatch up another plot."
Jeers, and shouts of "Vanitas!" from Lawrence.
"Really, it quite pained me. Why are we doing this thing, boys?"
"For the good of the school!" bellowed his team in chorus.
"Exactly! Our proposition for the Ramblers to play us has been turned down. Why?"
"Because they know that you'd lick 'em worse than the Stars have done!" yelled Aleck Parks.
An emphatic roar of approval, mingled with hand-clapping and shrill whistling, brought a gleam of pleasure into Brown's gray eyes.
"That's it! Fellows, I have three propositions to offer. Alone, we count as nothing; but with the school behind us our force would be as irresistible as the—as the——"
"He's stuck!" cried Victor Collins. "He's floundering!"
"As the tides," completed Brown.
"I told you! He's floundering in the tides," giggled Victor.
"The first proposition is this: simply force the regulars to play us, and prove they have the better team—if they can. If the crowd continues to refuse, the second proposition is to demand a thorough reorganization. I have players who ought to be on the school team."
"Roycroft, Roycroft, Roycroft!" shouted the students.
"And until the other day I never knew what star players we had in Platt and Bush—both of 'em nearly six feet of bone and muscle—plenty of skill and speed, besides."
The noise and confusion became so great that "Crackers'" oration only reached those on the outside of the mass as disconnected sentences.
"The 'Hopes' will have such a string of victories——"
"Hurrah, hurrah!" shouted the crowd.
"Order, order!" bawled Lawrence.
The tumult subsided.
"Proposition number three is this: in case the Ramblers refuse all overtures, the students shall recognize our team—the hard-working, victorious 'Hopes'—as the official representative of the school!"
The storm of approval which immediately followed grew to such uproarious proportions as to make the combined efforts of the "outlaws" to restore order futile. Their voices were drowned in a roar of sound which carried a conviction to the hearts of Bob's friends that the Kingswood High was about to be plunged into the stormiest period of its history.
Earl Roycroft looked hot and uncomfortable as he heard his name called from every point of the campus.
"Roycroft, Roycroft! Speech—speech!"
This cry was caught up and repeated until the big fellow was literally forced to take his place beside Dan Brown.
Only husky throats and tired lungs brought the quiet for which Dan Brown was pleading.
"Look out—there'll be a perfectly good box busted under that ton weight!" piped Victor Collins.
"Fellows, I appreciate your kindness," said the big captain of the "Hopes." "I only want to do the right thing for the school. We all know that every effort should be made to win Mr. Barry's field; and I'm afraid the regular team is not equal to the job. I am one of those who believe the majority counts. If you agree with Brown—and it looks very much as if you do—all I have to say is: give us your support."
"We will—we will!"
"Our team is going to develop rapidly. We ask you to watch its progress."
As Earl stepped down, to be slapped enthusiastically upon the shoulder by Owen Lawrence, Brown spoke up:
"If any of the officers of the athletic association or the Ramblers are present I invite them to state their side of the case. That's fair enough, isn't it?"
There was an instant of tense silence.
"They're over on the lot practicing, coachy," cried Victor Collins. "Those chaps are right on the job, while you're putting up the biggest blow I ever listened to."
"Crackers" gazed toward him mildly, but made no reply.
"Fellows"—he abruptly raised his voice to a pitch of harshness—"I ask you to pledge your support. Those who are with us raise their hands."
Arms shot up from every quarter, and the roar of voices which accompanied the movement caused the boys practicing on the distant field to stop and look around.