“My father knows the town marshal. We could—”
But that idea went no further. To Art and Conyers and Craighead, Sammy might as well have suggested that they call on their mothers for protection. If any hint of the impending embarrassment reached parental ears all knew that the tournament would be squelched.
“Besides,” argued Colly, “if it’s to come to a show-down at last, we might as well go up against it and lick ’em or take our medicine. How do you vote, Connie?”
“Well,” answered the chunky little warrior screwing up his mouth as if yet in doubt, “I ain’t keen for scraps—if they’re real—an’ I guess this’d be more’n just makin’ faces—but I’m tired o’ bein’ called a milksop, whatever that means. If you fellows mean business I reckon you won’t have to get a search warrant to find me.”
“That settles it,” announced Art. “Sammy, you an’ Colly get out and round up the kids. Ever’body’s got to know just what’s comin’ off. We’ll have a special meetin’ o’ the club to-night an’ count noses.”
“Better count ’em before Saturday,” interrupted Connie, “or some of ’em may look like two.”
“Mebbe,” retorted Art, “but Carrots Compton ain’t big enough to make me jump in the river. Don’t forget that.”
It was hardly dark before nearly every Elm Street boy had assembled at the garage. The council of war proceeded without lights and in subdued voices. In fact a few younger members were too agitated to talk above a frightened whisper. Early in the meeting George Atkins, nine years old, and Davy Cooke, who had a withered left arm, were newly sworn to reveal nothing they had heard, “especially to your fathers and mothers,” and excused from the bloody conspiracy.
Then, with varying degrees of valor, they signed the following articles of war: “I hereby give my word of honor that next Saturday I will be present at the Sycamore Pasture at two o’clock and follow each order and command of Arthur Trevor, our president, so far as I am able, and that whatever happens I will not peach.” Then followed the names of eleven boys,—those named before and Lewis Ashwood, Paul Corbett, Duncan Easton, Roger Mercer, Sandy Sheldon and Phil Abercrombie.
When Art finally made his way onto the porch where his mother awaited him, she said: