“No! No! No!” came in a great chorus.
Tom turned to Ed Kerr.
“Are there any who think otherwise?” asked the chairman.
“Yes,” called Bascome, and he was supported by half a dozen, including Ford Fenton. There were groans of protest, but Tom silenced them.
“I think Mr. Bascome has his answer,” declared the chairman. “You have an almost overwhelming vote of confidence, Mr. Manager, and I congratulate you. Is there any further business to come before the meeting. Oh, yes, I almost forgot. How are you making out, Mr. Treasurer?”
“Fine!” cried Snowden. “All we need and more, too.”
“Good! Then the meeting is adjourned. We don’t need any motion,” and Tom started to leave the little platform.
“Look here!” blustered Bert Bascome, “I’m a member of the athletic committee, and you can’t carry things in this high-handed manner. I move that we go into executive session and consider the election of a new manager. Mr. Kerr has resigned, as I understand it.”
“Forget it!” advised Dutch Housenlager, and he stretched out his foot, and skillfully tripped up the noisy objector, who went down in a heap, with Ford Fenton on top of him.
“Here! Quit! I’ll have you expelled for that!” spluttered Bascome, rising and making a rush for Dutch. But he was surrounded by a mass of students, who laughed and joked with him, shoving him from side to side until he was so mauled and hauled and mistreated that he was glad to make his escape.