“Suppose I don’t choose to go?” asked Cooke defiantly.
“Why, that would be very unhealthy for you,” answered the other, a smile threatening his gravity. Cooke looked up at the stand. There were plenty of friends there, but there seemed to be no way of reaching them. At the top a few occupants of the last row were looking down curiously, but they appeared quite unsuspicious of the indignity being visited on their schoolmate. Cooke yielded.
“All right,” he muttered.
“And, one thing more, Cooke,” said the spokesman of the little committee, “it will be better if you don’t come over here with the baseball team next spring. In fact, if I were you, I’d take good care to stay away from here. We don’t like spies.”
[CHAPTER XXVII]
FULL-BACK FOSTER
“That’s all, I guess,” said Coach Driscoll in conclusion. “The main thing is to play hard, fellows, and play fast. I don’t think we’ll have to change our signals. If Kenwood was on to them she’d have showed it before this. So tear in now and show what you can really do. No more sleeping on the job, no more watchful waiting. Here’s your line-up. Stearns, Mellen, Cummins, Cantrell, Dobbins, Keith, Mistley, Cater, Meldrum, Brown, Foster. On the run now!”
Myron, startled, gazed incredulously at the coach across the room. The others were heaving toward the doors, and he jumped up and followed, overtaking the coach in the corridor at the foot of the short stairway.
“I—you said—me, Mr. Driscoll?” stammered Myron.