"We don't want to give them a chance," he explained to Dick Travers.
The secretary of the athletic association nodded.
"Quite right, Steele. They're so jolly well stirred up that a few words might start a near-riot."
The players quickly gathered up their belongings, and started for the gymnasium just as the advance guard of the "bearers of evil tidings" reached the lot.
From more than a hundred tongues came the result of the afternoon's work. The Somers party seemed to have dropped completely out, not even a single cheer answering the ringing cries of the exultant supporters of "Crackers" Brown.
"You're fired out, Somers!" shouted Aleck Parks, with all his force. "We didn't ask the 'Ancient Mariner's' permission to do it, either."
"Don't rub it in, Parks," expostulated Luke Phelps. "Don't you see—the poor duffers have given up already. Let's beat it over to the gym and see the final surrender. Gee Whitaker, mustn't they feel cheap! Come on, fellows!"
The great crowd promptly fell in behind the players, a steady fire of comments passing from mouth to mouth.
"Aren't they a nice lot!" exclaimed Tom Clifton. "What do you think of 'em, Bob?"
"I guess it's more Dan Brown's fault than any one else's," answered Bob Somers. "By George—there's another bunch at the door of the gym. Guess they think the excitement isn't over yet."