“It’s Mr. Streeter’s idea, a corking good one. He’ll come up and tell us about it if we ask him.”
“We’ll do it!” shouted several at once.
“No! We don’t want any swells running things here,” Jim struck in; but even his partial ear heard fresh warning in the conflicting cries. Some suspicion of a force beneath the surface that was growing in strength angered him, but he did not reckon it at its full strength, and he displayed an ill temper that he would better have controlled. “And say, any kid that kicks in on this frame-up has to cut my crowd from this on.” He started off, but at the edge of the crowd turned and called, “Come on, kids!”
There was a breathless moment. The dullest one there knew that this was a crisis, knew that the smouldering rebellion against Jim Barney’s tyranny had at last broken into open war.
None understood the situation better than Billy. “Fellows, think before you follow Jim Barney. His game is as cultus as his name; and this hour starts the open fight between rowdyism and decency. All that want to line up for things we shall not be ashamed of, stay!”
For a second no one stirred.
“Come on!” Jim shouted, paused a second, then waved his hand toward Billy. “Or stand in with lily-necked Bill and his Fish!”
With this parting gibe that set Billy’s face blazing, he wheeled and walked off the grounds with no backward glance.
Slowly, one by one at first, then in groups as their courage rose, about thirty boys followed him off. Down on the street they sent back one or two loud shouts, and were soon out of hearing.
“This is better than I thought it would be,” Billy said to those remaining; “but Jim Barney can divide the school a good deal nearer even than some of you think. How many here are in for an active fight for the good name of the Fifth Avenue High?”