THE CHALLENGE
"A large slice of history made for the Kingswood High."
This is the entry Benny Wilkins jotted down in his note-book at the close of the "Hopes'" game with Engleton. Four boys had actually seen him writing it, and perhaps a hundred others had had it flaunted in their faces.
The score, five to three in favor of the "Hopes," sent through the ranks of Brown's followers a wave of enthusiasm that found vent in the noisiest demonstration the quiet town of Engleton had ever known.
Critical observers of the High's new team noted that the fire and dash with which the big lads played seemed to impress their opponents greatly.
"Brown's bunch is the most unruly lot in the school," growled Tom Clifton, who had ardently wished to see the "Hopes" sustain a crushing defeat. "There won't be any discipline on that team very long."
"They played a mighty good game, though," ventured Charlie Blake.
Tom steered his companion out of the way of a procession of joyous rooters, led by Aleck Parks and Luke Phelps.
"How about the 'Pie-eaters and doughnut crowd' now?" yelled Parks, waving his cap in the air.
"If you want to win games go to Guffin's!" screeched Luke. "Ha, ha! Five to three! Don't look so down in the mouth, 'Vanitas'!"
"If it wasn't for this big crowd I'd punch him right now!" cried Tom.
"I'm afraid the effects of Brown's victory will be rather bad," mused Charlie Blake. He paused to watch the throngs hurrying for the Kingswood car. "I wonder if Steele and Bob Somers haven't been a bit stubborn."
"Of course not," returned Tom. "Do you know what I heard this morning? Some of the fellows Brown left off his team are putting up a kick already."
"Dear me! Then, I suppose, before long there'll be a half dozen nines, all playing for the good of the school."
Next day, in the gymnasium, Benny Wilkins had an opportunity to write several very interesting items in his famous note-book. Immediately after classes were over the regular nine assembled in the big room as though nothing had happened. They had hardly donned their uniforms, preparatory to practicing, when the door opened, and Dan Brown, heading his entire aggregation of players, stepped inside.
An eager crowd of freshmen, juniors, sophomores and seniors flocked at their heels, their faces showing a degree of expectancy which indicated that something was up.
"Mr. Steele," began "Crackers," in deliberate tones, "the event of yesterday must still be fresh in your mind. You saw us play the Engletons, I believe?"
The coach nodded.
"Crackers" calmly paused to wipe his glasses.
"Before I go any further I want it understood that we're not wishing to make any trouble in the school."
"Like fun you're not!" burst out Tom Clifton. "From the very first——"
"Quit it, Tom!" commanded Dave Brandon. "Let's hear what Brown has to say."
"Put a doughnut in his mouth!" cried Benny Wilkins.
"Stop your noise, fellows," insisted Brown. "We came here on serious business. Mr. Steele, the school has been patient; it has given you every chance to make good. What has been the result? Six straight defeats, and a mysterious hurry call from Mr. Barry. We all know how dissatisfied he is."
"He talks like a senator," snickered Victor Collins. "Most of 'em never reach the point."
"Be patient, my young friend in the checkered cap," went on Brown. "Mr. Steele, the school couldn't stand by and see a grand chance for getting a ball field and stand slip away."
"And it doesn't propose to!" cried Owen Lawrence.
"We have a proposition—a fair proposition: play us a series of games, and let whichever club wins represent the school. This is no time for stubbornness. Personal ambition has no place at such an important epoch in the history of the Kingswood High."
As the leader of the "outlaws" paused a lively rattle of tongues began. Excited students cheered, or voiced their protests until the room echoed with a noisy din.
"Don't do it, Steele; don't do it!" cried one.
"The whole bunch ought to be thrown out of the school!" shouted a second.
"You're away off. Brown's the best friend the Kingswood High ever had!" exclaimed another, hotly.
"Crackers" looked at the excited groups about him with as much unconcern as though reciting in the class room.
"Order—order!" yelled Lawrence. "What do you say, Steele?"
The coach was visibly annoyed—even angry. He shot a swift, questioning glance at Bob Somers, then turned to face Dan Brown.
"Your request should have been made in proper form to the athletic association, Brown," he said, coolly. "If you choose, you can carry the matter to them. Personally, I must emphatically decline to comply with your wishes. What do you say, fellows?" He addressed the members of the nine.
A unanimous "No!" cut crisply above the buzz of conversation.
"I thought so!" exclaimed Owen Lawrence, fiercely. "Afraid, eh? Have to crawl? We want the whole school to know it."
"Not so fast, Lawrence," protested Brown. "I'm sure Mr. Steele is open to reason. What's the use of all this red tape about athletic associations? Rules may be all right in their way; but there are times when they had better be thrown on the scrap heap."
"Our policy is not determined by rules or red tape, Brown."
"What reason can you give for not playing us?"
"Now you've got him!" came in a loud tone from Lawrence.
"We're working on a definite plan," explained Roger Steele, in a conciliatory manner. "Every one of us has the interest of the school at heart; and if there are no internal dissensions the task will be easy. Our team is going to do much better than you think; it's going to improve steadily."
"An answer that is no answer," remarked Brown. "You'll be saying the same thing after the tenth consecutive defeat."
"We can't be jollied," added Lawrence.
"Come now, Mr. Steele, why not play the 'Hopes'?" said Earl Roycroft, mildly. "I don't think there ought to be any row or ill-feeling. Two or three games couldn't do any harm, and——"
"I should like to oblige you, Roycroft, but I can't encourage the idea."
"Well, I should rather say not!" howled Tom, whose pent-up wrath had once more gotten the better of him. "I never heard of such nerve in my life. Get out, 'Crackers'! Go back to Terry Guffin's and hatch up some new plot!"
"'Vanitas' heard from again!" sneered Aleck Parks.
"Don't get too gay, Parks," warned Tom. "I shouldn't be a bit surprised if you're the chap who made that mean remark about the corn field."
"No such thing," answered Aleck, tartly.
"Cut out all quarreling on the side lines, boys," interposed Brown. "Now, Mr. Steele, I'll answer the question I asked you. Frankly, brutally, and to the point: you won't play us because you and every member of the nine is afraid. I dare you to come out on the field and cross bats with us this afternoon. If you don't, what will the school think?" He raised his voice. "The boys have no use for a team with a yellow streak."
"Brown, you're going a little too far," interposed Bob Somers. "Talk like that won't make us budge. If you really are for the good of the school you'll stop all this rumpus."
"Really are for the good of the school!" echoed "Crackers." His mild tone suddenly departed. "Do you mean to insinuate, Bob Somers, that I'm doing this just for the sake of a row?"
"I didn't insinuate anything."
"Well, you'd better not." "Crackers" turned to face his "outlaws." "Fellows, our perfectly reasonable proposition has been turned down. It's up to us to break the red tape into a thousand pieces. Mr. Steele"—his voice resumed its former mildness—"I shall put my request in writing and send it to the athletic association."
The room was in an uproar. The Somers party attempted, by sheer force of noise, to drown the angry remarks of Brown's disappointed followers. Benny Wilkins was thoroughly charmed. He noted, too, with satisfaction, that the "outlaws" seemed to be in no hurry to leave.
As the commotion was at its highest the door suddenly flew wide open, and the form of a big, burly man was sharply outlined against the bright outdoor light.
He listened a moment in seeming astonishment, then strode heavily across the floor, making for the point of loudest noise.
"What does all this mean, boys?" bellowed Captain Ralph Bunderley. "Do you want to take the roof off, or crack the window-panes? I've been looking for my nephew, Victor Collins; and I've found him, and something else I didn't bargain for."
The unexpected appearance of the burly seaman in their midst had the effect of quelling all but the most turbulent spirits.
"I'd like to know what's going on!"
"Uncle, let me introduce you to the biggest bunch of fire-eaters in Wisconsin," called Victor. "It's a revolution—that's what it is, isn't it, Brownie?"
From a dozen points in the room came the explanation that Captain Bunderley was seeking.
The skipper was astonished and angry. "I should think you boys would have better sense than to act this way," he stormed. "What do you expect to gain by such conduct?"
"A ball field and grand stand," answered Brown.
"All ridiculous nonsense!" The captain struck the palm of his hand an emphatic blow. "The boys have done right to refuse to play such an organization."
"Have you recently entered the High as a student?" asked Brown.
A fierce glare sprang into the captain's eyes.
"I would suggest, sir," continued Brown, smoothly, "that the students are not asking advice from outsiders."
"I beg pardon," said the captain, "but I thought a little friendly counsel might not come amiss."
"It's the way you offer your suggestions that hurts our feelings," said Brown, quite candidly. "Really, I expected to find myself flying through space."
"'Crackers' felt as if he'd been banged on the head," added Benny Wilkins. "Who's got a note-book? My new one's full already."
"My esteemed young friend," said "Crackers," turning toward him, "I saw a bargain sale on Central Avenue. Let me advise you to get a dozen at once. Even then, I fear, it won't be enough to hold an account of what our team—the 'Hopes'—are going to do."