THE WISH OF THE MAJORITY
"Well, something has certainly happened over there," remarked Bob Somers to Charlie Blake, as he lined a batted ball back to Singleton.
"I guess I know what it is," sighed the "grind." "Suppose, by this time, 'Crackers' Brown thinks he's it."
In spite of the continual commotion which rang unpleasantly in their ears the nine kept on practicing, with but a very small audience on the field.
At length the slight figure of Benny Wilkins was seen approaching as fast as his rather short legs could carry him.
"Hi, hi, fellows!" he gasped. "Hi, hi! No use for you to play any more. I've got the awfulest news. Don't throw that ball, Dave Brandon; it's no use, I tell you. 'Four ten P. M.'—got it all chalked down—'Somers and Company thrown out by more than a unanimous vote! Rambler Club changes its name to the Hikers.'"
The sensation which Benny hoped to produce did not materialize. The staunch Somers adherents who had refrained from voting were fully prepared for the announcement, while most of the players merely grinned.
"Well, you're a cool lot!" growled Benny, in disgust. "Haven't you anything to say, T. Vanitas?"
A few weeks before, Tom Clifton would probably have made a hot retort, adding a few remarks which might have been twisted into something highly boastful. Now, however, he merely shook his head, and answered with a smile:
"No news for the note-book, Benny."
"Oh, you're a peacherino. I thought you'd go over and scatter that howling mob single-handed. I can see Brown has your number."
"Benny is agitated," laughed Alf Boggs.
"Who wouldn't be when a chap's lifelong friends are given such an awful sack? And I kept on hollering and hollering 'Hooray for Somers!' I did so, Fred Benson. Ask Parksy. Say, for his size, he has the biggest fist in school. Going to sell your uniforms, fellows? I know a good second-hand dealer. You won't fight this thing, will you, Somers?"
"There's nothing to fight, Benny."
"Oh, my, oh, my! If 'Crackers' should ever hear that! I'm going to tell him. Hooray! Guess that means a bigger scrap than ever. Look at this bunch of hotheads coming over. Get ready to run."
Shouts and songs rising on the air and constantly growing louder announced the approach of the crowd.
Rather fearful that some impetuous students might feel inclined to stir up more excitement, Coach Steele stopped further practice.
"We don't want to give them a chance," he explained to Dick Travers.
The secretary of the athletic association nodded.
"Quite right, Steele. They're so jolly well stirred up that a few words might start a near-riot."
The players quickly gathered up their belongings, and started for the gymnasium just as the advance guard of the "bearers of evil tidings" reached the lot.
From more than a hundred tongues came the result of the afternoon's work. The Somers party seemed to have dropped completely out, not even a single cheer answering the ringing cries of the exultant supporters of "Crackers" Brown.
"You're fired out, Somers!" shouted Aleck Parks, with all his force. "We didn't ask the 'Ancient Mariner's' permission to do it, either."
"Don't rub it in, Parks," expostulated Luke Phelps. "Don't you see—the poor duffers have given up already. Let's beat it over to the gym and see the final surrender. Gee Whitaker, mustn't they feel cheap! Come on, fellows!"
The great crowd promptly fell in behind the players, a steady fire of comments passing from mouth to mouth.
"Aren't they a nice lot!" exclaimed Tom Clifton. "What do you think of 'em, Bob?"
"I guess it's more Dan Brown's fault than any one else's," answered Bob Somers. "By George—there's another bunch at the door of the gym. Guess they think the excitement isn't over yet."
"Nice job facing that staring mob!" grumbled Charlie Blake. "Wish to thunder it was all over."
"I almost feel like losing my temper and being rude to some one," sighed Dave Brandon.
In spite of their feelings the players swung toward the gymnasium door with a firm tread, passing between lines of deeply interested, jostling boys whose sallies and jests all allowed to pass unnoticed.
Inside the big room conditions were pretty much the same. But the ball players did not pause until the office of the athletic association was reached.
The indignation meeting had had the effect of bringing every officer and some of the directors to the scene of action. As they entered Harry Spearman was found pacing the floor excitedly.
"Hello, Bob!" he called, catching sight of the captain. "This has been a fierce afternoon, eh? Brown carried things with a high hand. By George! Let any of you fellows waver, and I don't believe I'd ever speak to you again."
"No use to get excited, Spearman," admonished Sam Randall. "If there is a sign of backdown anywhere I haven't been able to see it."
"Only because you're short-sighted, Sammy," screeched Benny Wilkins, who at that instant pushed open the door and peered in. "Get specs like Brown."
"Sneak away from there!" cried Harry Spearman, wrathfully. "Go on, now; get!"
"What's the matter? Can't a fellow even spy in the open any longer? Dave Brandon said——"
Harry thrust him aside and slammed the door.
"Those fellows think the thing is all settled," he exclaimed. "If it hadn't been for Brown and Lawrence talking a fierce streak to a lot of weak dubs who don't know their own minds——"
"Oh, what's the use of going all over that again?" broke in Dick Travers, impatiently. "Let's——"
Bang—bang!
Two sharp cracks on the door echoed noisily.
"Come in!" called Sam Randall.
"Crackers" Brown, wearing a solemn expression, promptly entered, his lieutenants, Lawrence and Roycroft, following close behind.
"Good-afternoon, fellows!" exclaimed the coach of the "Hopes," without a trace of excitement in his manner. "Gee! Awful big crowd in here for such a small room."
An awkward silence, broken only by the sound of footsteps and the scraping of a chair, as Sam changed his position, added to the pent-up feelings which Harry Spearman was finding it hard to control.
Brown improved the moment by polishing his glasses industriously. Then he sidled over to the window, where his stoop-shouldered form was silhouetted in lines of uncompromising hardness against the panes.
"Randall," he began, deliberately, "we three have been delegated by a number of students to bring to your notice the fact that the 'Hopes' have been chosen by a most decisive vote to represent the school. The thing was done fairly and aboveboard. None of you fellows would even speak a word in your own defense."
Sam nodded coldly.
"You cannot go against the wish of the majority." The chief "outlaw" brought out his words emphatically. "We wish to state that the 'Hopes' are going to play Rockville Academy on Saturday."
"Are they?" cried Harry Spearman, excitedly.
"No athletic association is greater than the school it represents. The boys have spoken. Listen! Here is the result of the vote." "Crackers" could not conceal a feeling of elation as he droned out the figures. He paused to receive an answer, but, hearing none, continued:
"This thing ought to be settled amicably. If you fellows are in earnest about winning that field for the school you'll show it by handing your resignations to the board of directors."
"Indeed!" sneered Harry Spearman. "For an absolutely unmitigated piece of nerve and impudence that's the worst I ever heard."
"We didn't come here, to scrap but to talk quietly over the situation and reach some conclusion," said "Crackers," smoothly. "Now, Randall, what do you propose to do?"
"The athletic association does not concede that the school has the right to dictate to it in such a way. We don't intend to ask any members of the baseball club to resign."
"You don't, eh?" burst out Owen Lawrence. "Well, the boys are not going to stand for any more exhibitions of obstinacy on your part. It's either get out quietly or be thrown out!"
"We'll do neither," returned Harry Spearman, crossing the floor to face the new student. "You can't bluff our crowd!"
"No use having a war of words," put in Brown, authoritatively. "I tell you: when you fellows refused to play us a series of games you started——"
Bob Somers interrupted him.
"We'd surely have played your club if it hadn't been gotten up for the express purpose of chucking us out of our jobs," he said, coolly. "You needn't shake your head, Brown."
"I was talking to a chap yesterday who used to be one of your hottest supporters," persisted "Crackers." "I asked him if he honestly thought the regulars had a ghost of a show against the 'Hopes.' He smiled a mighty sickly smile. 'Not the slightest, Brown,' he flashed back; 'the Ramblers would probably be wiped off the map.'"
"The 'Ramblers'!" repeated Harry Spearman. "That's one of your false alarm cries that have done nearly the whole business."
"All your team had to do was to play good ball," returned Brown, dryly. "Then no one could have kicked. But you lost game after game; and when the boys found that you wouldn't play the 'Hopes' because you expected an awful trimming they made up their minds to assert——"
Bob rapped on the table with his knuckles.
"Brown, we have been telling you all along that the fellows only needed a little time to round into good shape. I'll admit the 'Hopes' are a fine team. But we are striking our real gait now, and don't admit that your team is a bit better."
"There's the plank we stand on," put in Roger Steele. "Frankly, if you chaps had caught us unprepared this little disturbance would have been nothing to the one which a few hotheads would now be engineering."
"Ice-water is good for hotheads!" came through the keyhole.
"Our policy has been dictated by a thorough belief in the team," said Sam Randall, "and, incidentally, we have felt bound to stand up for our rights."
"We're to understand, then, that you defy the whole school?" exclaimed Owen Lawrence. He glared at the boys ranged around the table. "Just remember—there's a big crowd in the gym waiting to get your answer."
"I wouldn't call it such a harsh word as that," said Sam Randall. "The fellows are temporarily against us; that's all. They'll soon see it themselves."
"Crackers" Brown continued to argue, pointing out in his calm way the consequences which might result if the regulars persisted in their course. Owen Lawrence, of combative temperament, threatened and stormed. Earl Roycroft took a middle course, doing his best to act as peacemaker.
But, to their combined efforts, Sam Randall, as spokesman of the athletic association, gave a final, and negative answer.
"All right—nothing doing here!" growled Brown. "There'll be a lot doing somewhere else, however."
"Crackers" Brown, with a curt "So-long!" strode to the door, throwing it open so suddenly that Benny uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Can't you be more polite when a fellow has his eye to the keyhole, Brown?" he complained. "Got thrown down hard, didn't you? I'm going to tell the fellows."
A crowd quickly surrounded the three "outlaws," loudly demanding particulars of the meeting.
"No one seems to have any rights in this school except themselves," growled Owen Lawrence. "I thought it would be a waste of time to talk to 'em."
The boys became angry and belligerent.
"They won't be dictated to by the school, eh?" sneered one. "Well, we're not going to lose a championship and a dandy ball field just for the sake of Bob Somers' pride. We've voted 'em out; and, by Jingo, they're going out! That's all there is to it."
"And if they try to play Rockville on Saturday," exclaimed Aleck Parks, "there'll be a nice hot time on the old lot."
"We ought to run them right off the field," added Luke Phelps.
"Quit that kind of talk," commanded Earl Roycroft. "I know you'll try to stir up the biggest row you can. Say, Brown," he added, "I'm going over to see President Hopkins. Maybe he'll help us straighten out this tangle. Get him on our side and those fellows might come down from their perch."
"Don't believe the prin'll do it," said "Crackers," "but try it if you want. Yes; we'll wait right here."
During the absence of the big first baseman of the "Hopes," the boys discussed the situation in excited tones, some of the more impetuous often hurrahing lustily.
When Earl returned, in about fifteen minutes, a rush was made for the door.
"How about it?" demanded Parks.
"President Hopkins says he can't interfere, boys," answered Roycroft, slowly. "It's mighty easy to see that he's sore on our crowd, too—good as told me so."
"Of course that isn't any news to me," sniffed Owen Lawrence. "Didn't Brown get handed the same dose?"
"There's been enough talk about this thing, fellows," broke in "Crackers." He looked over the rim of his glasses at the noisy crowd; then, raising his voice so that it penetrated to all parts of the big room, he added significantly: "What we want now is action."