"We'll do neither," returned Harry Spearman, crossing the floor to face the new student. "You can't bluff our crowd!"
"No use having a war of words," put in Brown, authoritatively. "I tell you: when you fellows refused to play us a series of games you started——"
Bob Somers interrupted him.
"We'd surely have played your club if it hadn't been gotten up for the express purpose of chucking us out of our jobs," he said, coolly. "You needn't shake your head, Brown."
"I was talking to a chap yesterday who used to be one of your hottest supporters," persisted "Crackers." "I asked him if he honestly thought the regulars had a ghost of a show against the 'Hopes.' He smiled a mighty sickly smile. 'Not the slightest, Brown,' he flashed back; 'the Ramblers would probably be wiped off the map.'"
"The 'Ramblers'!" repeated Harry Spearman. "That's one of your false alarm cries that have done nearly the whole business."
"All your team had to do was to play good ball," returned Brown, dryly. "Then no one could have kicked. But you lost game after game; and when the boys found that you wouldn't play the 'Hopes' because you expected an awful trimming they made up their minds to assert——"
Bob rapped on the table with his knuckles.
"Brown, we have been telling you all along that the fellows only needed a little time to round into good shape. I'll admit the 'Hopes' are a fine team. But we are striking our real gait now, and don't admit that your team is a bit better."
"There's the plank we stand on," put in Roger Steele. "Frankly, if you chaps had caught us unprepared this little disturbance would have been nothing to the one which a few hotheads would now be engineering."