"Do you mean that we're not?" demanded Barnes swaggeringly.
"So far you've played like a lot of sluggers."
"See here! I've a good mind to thrash you, Prescott!" quivered
Barnes.
"It's always the truth that stings," retorted Dick, with a cool smile.
"My fist would hurt, too."
"That's what we're asking you to do—-to save all your slugging and bruising tactics until after a straight and gentlemanly game has been played," retorted Dick, with spirit.
Barnes clenched his fists, but the referee stepped squarely in between the rival captains.
"Cut it!" directed that official tersely. "I'll do all the talking myself. Captain Barnes, return to your men and tell them that slugging and tricky work will be watched for more carefully, and penalized as heavily as the rules allow. If it goes too far I'll declare the game forfeited to the visiting team."
"This is a shame!" fumed Barnes. "And the whole charge is a mass of lies."
"I'll watch out and see," promised—-or threatened—-the referee. "Back to your positions. Captain Barnes, I'll give you thirty seconds to pass the word around among your men."