THE GRUMBLERS
"Well, I'm mighty glad it's all settled, Steele," said Bob Somers. "I'm afraid, though"—he smiled rather grimly—"that some of the chaps are pretty badly disappointed."
Coach Steele's gray eyes ran over the crowd congregated before the bulletin-board.
"It's the same old story, Bob. A coach's life is not always the biggest snap in the world."
"I wonder how Roycroft will take it," ventured Charlie Blake.
"Like a good sport, I'm sure," answered Steele.
"Of course he will," said Tom, who was bubbling over with glee. "Honest, Bob, I can hardly wait for the umpire to call 'Play ball!' Aren't we going to pulverize Nat Wingate's crowd? I'll bet we whitewash 'em. Doesn't it make you tired to hear some of those fellows boast?"
"Ha, ha! I shall have to make a note of Mr. Clifton's comment on boasting." Benny Wilkins, wearing his usual grin, approached. "Congrats, Brandon and the whole bunch. Thought your weight and Somers' delicate nerve would carry you through. Lucky dogs!"
"I can see an awful lot of hard work before us," drawled Dave Brandon.
"But just think what jolly good fun it'll be getting the school a new athletic field," exclaimed Tom. "Hope some of the teams we play are strong enough to give us a pretty good tussle."
"Cut it out, fellows! I tell you I don't want you to say a word. I'm not putting up any kick."
Earl Roycroft's big form loomed up from among a group of gesticulating, excited admirers. Voices echoed sharply through the big gymnasium.
"How about Lawrence? How about Lawrence?" chorused a small coterie surrounding the new student and "Crackers" Brown.
"Rah, rah, rah for Bob Somers!" answered a challenging roar from lusty throats. "Three cheers for Coach Steele!"
The room seemed to shake with applause. The Somersites were clearly in the majority. A stream began pouring over to offer their well wishes to the members of the first regularly organized team of the Kingswood High.
Bantering remarks, cat-calls, came from the minority. Never in its history had the gym witnessed such a scene of noise, confusion and bustle. From out of the babel of sound came the repeated cry of:
"Roycroft—Roycroft!"
The big guard, red-faced and flustered, found himself being pushed toward Coach Steele. His emphatic protests fell on unheeding ears.
"Quit it, fellows," he commanded, almost angrily. "If the coach didn't want me on the team that settles it."
"Don't roll off any such chicken-hearted stuff as that," growled Owen Lawrence. "We've been handed a raw deal, and it's time to us we said something."
"This looks like the beginning of a real revolution," grinned Benny Wilkins, who had walked over.
"We might as well have a little talk with Mr. Steele right now," suggested "Crackers."
"That's right; strike while the Steele is cool," piped Benny.
"Let go, fellows!" cried Earl. "Stop shoving, Luke Phelps. If I'm satisfied, you haven't any right to fuss about it."
"Oh, yes, we have. It's for the good of the school," declared "Crackers" emphatically. "I told you all along how things would turn out. A protest in time may save nine awful explosions."
"IT'S FOR THE GOOD OF THE SCHOOL"
"Well, I'm in your hands," said the guard, with a rather weak smile.
"I say, Mr. Steele!"—Owen Lawrence was speaking—"may I speak to you a moment?"
"Certainly, Lawrence. Go ahead."
"I don't want to appear in the light of a sorehead, Mr. Steele; but it seems to me—and a good many here will back up my opinion—that it's a mistake to leave Roycroft off the team."
"What has Earl to say about this?" asked the coach, quietly.
"I told these chaps I was ready to abide by your decision," answered Roycroft. "I'm not kicking."
"That's all very well," said "Crackers," "but we happen to know the kind of a game he can play; and the prize the school is going after——"
"I have considered all that, Brown."
The coach, scarcely more than a schoolboy in appearance, spoke so unassumingly that "Crackers" was emboldened to continue.
He began talking earnestly and emphatically, pointing out the various reasons why both Roycroft and Lawrence should be added to the squad.
The coach, however, shook his head.
"I don't think I can make any change, Brown," he announced, firmly. "There are so many promising players in this school that it means no reflection whatever on those who were left off."
"Just the way I take it," said Roycroft.
"Then you're a big dunderhead!" exclaimed Owen Lawrence. "Three of the Ramblers on that team; two others officers of the athletic association! How can you swallow a proposition like that?"
"Oh, go away and eat some pie!" scoffed Tom Clifton. "Steady your nerves with a doughnut. Better wait and see us play before you get so hot about it."
"I'm afraid some one will be roasted if this thing keeps up," murmured Benny.
"We're going to do our level best for the school, fellows," spoke up Bob Somers, earnestly. "A team is twice as strong when there's no opposition or unpleasant feeling. All we ask is: give us a fair show. Then, if things don't break right, it will be time enough to talk."
"Let that idea soak in, Owen Lawrence," spoke up "Jack Frost," who had won his place on the pitching staff.
"All right. We'll give you all the chance you want." Owen, apparently regretting his hasty outbreak, even smiled as he added: "Wherever I study I'm always red-hot for the school."
"Lawrence's thought arrangement unloosens his tongue before he thinks," came from Benny. "I made a note of that the first day he was here."
"Oh ho," yawned Dave Brandon. "I've got a lot of work to do on the next number of the 'Reflector.' Guess I'll skip."
"Crackers," the most solemn-looking boy in school, and yet, some suspected, the most anxious to help along any row, realized that it would be impolitic to allow the opposition to show its hand too freely. He saw that it could only react upon themselves, and, perhaps, throw into the other camp those undecided students who were not quite sure which side to favor.
"The 'Pie-eaters' will act as nice as pie," he confided to Owen Lawrence, late that afternoon at Terry Guffin's.
"I heard Steele speak about getting up a second nine to play the regulars," said Benny Wilkins. "He told the fellows it was the best kind of practice. Now's your chance, Lawrence."
"Not for mine, son," answered Owen, emphatically. "Steele and Somers threw me down. Now they can't pick up yours truly just to make a convenience of him."
"I'm not sore about it," added Earl Roycroft, "but, after being considered a kind of star on the football eleven, I don't feel like taking a back seat."
"I should say not," agreed Brown.
This seemed to be the general feeling among those who failed to get a position on the team. Many thought "Crackers" had a great deal to do with this state of mind.
At any rate, the various teams which soon sprang into being did not include any "big names" among their players. The regulars, for the most part, had an easy time disposing of them, only occasionally being obliged to extend themselves in order to win.
"Wait till they play a real, live club," laughed Owen Lawrence. "Then I guess the score-card will tell another story."
The interest aroused in the coming contest with the Kingswood Stars increased as the day approached.
"An awful lot depends upon the first game," said Bob Somers to Coach Steele, as the crowd left the gymnasium for practice on the following day. "Tony Tippen is certainly a dandy pitcher, and for an all-around player Nat Wingate is one of the best for his age I've ever seen."
"There is plenty of go and courage to that lad," remarked Steele, "though he needs discipline."
"Oh, they're not such a bunch of wonders," laughed Tom—"even if they did beat the Goose Hillers. I guess we can wade right through 'em without half trying."
"Overconfidence has lost many a game," admonished the coach.
"Well, I reckon it won't lose any for us."
"Boys, I think you have all the signals down pretty fine. Now be careful not to cut loose too much. Keep your best in reserve, and when Saturday comes don't let a lot of howling rooters get your nerve."
"Not much," sniffed Tom.
"Well, here we are on the field. Let's get busy. Hello, Joe! Glad to see you. Guess you'll be on hand to see the game, eh?"
An expansive smile rested on Joe Rodgers' freckled face. He looked very different from the lad whom Dave Brandon had found as an employee of Spudger's Great Combined Peerless Circus and Menagerie.
"Won't I though, Mr. Steele?" he answered. "How are you, Dave! Howdy, Bob! Maybe I wouldn't like to be on the team."
"You'll get there some day," chuckled Dave. "Ready, 'Jack Frost'? I want to get my batting eye in shape."
Among the great crowd of boys who surged on the field not a word of opposition was heard. The fast and snappy play brought forth ripples of applause. Bounders, grass-cutters, line drives and high flies were fielded or caught with admirable precision. There were few false movements made in whipping the ball from one to another.
It was an inspiring sight to the Somers partisans. They cheered and yelled themselves hoarse. Joe Rodgers was in ecstasy.
"They can't be beaten!" he cried.
"Three forty-five P. M. Decision reached that the Ramblers can't be beaten," chuckled Benny Wilkins, who happened to be near. "Too bad we can't get some major leaguers out here and show 'em just where they stand."
"Saturday will be a great day for the school team," predicted Harry Spearman. "Everybody is brimming over with confidence."
"I never bank too much on parlor practice," put in Ted Pollock. "Hush! Don't say a word. Here comes Tom Clifton. Strikes me he's up in the air in more'n one way," he added, in a lower tone. "Gee, hasn't he changed! 'Member when he was a little timid sort of a kid, Wilkins?"
"It hasn't been lately," growled Benny. "Of all the hot-air artists that ever strutted around a ball field he carries off the bakery, pie counter and all. If they get trounced on Saturday I won't shed any tears for Tommy."
"What's this—a conspiracy?" chuckled Tom. "Cut out the whispering. Did you see Bob stop Hazel's grounder? Peach—wasn't it? Scooped the ball on a fast run."
"Too bad Mr. Barry didn't witness that performance," said Benny. "He might have taken down the first of those no-trespassing signs. Wasn't it queer of the old chap to make such an offer, anyway?"
"Most staggers me even now," admitted Ted Pollock. "Say, Tom, tried on your uniform yet?"
"Certainly have. Guess it won't look so spick and span after I steal a few bases."
"Better be careful how you try it on Nat's crowd," warned Ted. "His backstop, you know, has a big rep' for nippin' those sly dodges."
"Oh, yes. But he'll have to eat some more pie before he can do the nipping act on me. Look out—let me get it!"
Tom made a frantic rush in and out among the crowd in an effort to reach a high foul which had slipped from Dave Brandon's bat. Two juniors were bowled over in the attempt; but Tom caught the ball, and, flushed with triumph, snapped it over to "Jack Frost."
"Nearly knocks a fellow's head off, an' never even says excuse me," muttered one disconsolate junior, rubbing his forehead. "I like his nerve."
"So don't I," growled the other. "The silly chump rushed right between us before we had a chance to move. Gee! Look at him now, chasing that grounder. Guess he thinks he's the whole show. Listen! What's that?"
A loud, discordant yell had blared through a megaphone.
Turning in the direction from whence the sound had come the two saw a small procession of boys headed by Nat Wingate and tall John Hackett approaching. The majority had megaphones, and the din which they produced indicated that all knew how to use them to the best advantage.
On they came, singing a lusty chorus.
"We are ready for the fray!" shouted Nat, at the end of a stanza.
"Rah, rah, rah!" yelled Hackett.
"Bing, bang, boom!" screeched Kirk Talbot. "We're the best bunch in the amateur ranks."
"And we're going to show just how rank you are!" howled Tom.
An approving roar came from the purple and white.
"That's like Nat Wingate—always butting in with a megaphone," exclaimed one of the juniors. "But say, Freddy Sparker, he's just doing it 'cause he thinks he can rattle Somers' crowd; an', take it from me, some of 'em he can."
"Who?" asked Sparker.
"Charlie Blake, for one; Clifton for another."
"Add Alfred Boggs for a third. Oh, yes; Nat and Hackett'll know how to get some of 'em going."
"I shouldn't mind being knocked down again if it were only time for that game to be played," sighed the first junior. "Wouldn't surprise me a bit if Nat gave our crowd an awful lacing."