“You sat on ’em proper, Hiram.”
“Yes, Luke and I fixed up that scheme,” answered the bully, with no little pride.
Joe heard, and the thought came to him that possibly there might be a split in the ranks of the lads—a school divided against itself, and on his account. He took a quick resolve.
Striding over to Hiram he held out his hand, saying with a frank smile:
“Hiram, don’t think for a minute I’m sore. It’s all right, and I haven’t a word to say. I did want to get on the nine, but I realize that I am a new lad here, and maybe next year things will be different. I’m for the team first, last and always. Will you shake on it—you and Luke?”
For a moment the bully eyed our hero. Luke, too, gazed at him with a sneer on his face. Then as a little murmur of admiration for Joe’s conduct arose—a murmur in which some of Hiram’s own friends joined—the latter knew that it was the wisest policy to be at least outwardly friendly with Joe.
“All right, Matson,” replied Hiram. “I guess you can come in. I’m sorry if you feel hurt about the way we run things here at Excelsior Hall, but——”
“Not at all—‘to the victors belong the spoils,’” quoted Joe. “Maybe you’ll let me play on the scrub.”
“Sure, if there’s a chance,” put in Luke eagerly. He, too, saw which way the wind was likely to blow, and noting that Hiram had changed his conduct toward Joe it was up to the bully’s toady to do the same. “You can play on the scrub all you want to,” Luke added.