"Come now, Somers, be reasonable," pleaded Earl Roycroft. "Can't you see that by keeping up this thing you're liable to start an awful rumpus?"
"You're the fellows who won't listen to reason," returned Bob. "Why don't you quit this row and let us play?"
"We would if you only knew how," jeered Lawrence. "Better cool off, Somers. It would take only a few words from Brown and me to send you marathoning into the distance as fast as though a number one size grizzly was within a foot of your spiked shoes."
"Talk like that isn't going to have any effect," laughed Coach Steele. "Please get back. We want to begin the game."
Dan Brown's soft, easy manner suddenly underwent a tremendous change. His voice became harsh and rasping as he demanded:
"What are you Rockville fellows going to do? Do you intend to play us or not?"
"Pinky" Crane stared at his companions. Being more gifted in ball playing than diplomacy, he was plainly stumped.
"It's too much for me," he confessed, blankly. "How about it, Barr?"
The manager, a sturdy young fellow with a strong, aggressive chin and an equally positive manner, kicked at the turf a moment before replying. Then, looking squarely into "Crackers" Brown's face, he exclaimed:
"This is what I have to say: we'll play the regularly organized team. No mushroom nine for me." He shook his finger vigorously in the chief "outlaw's" face. "Now beat it! Enough of this fuss. We're going to start."