THE WISH OF THE MAJORITY
"Well, something has certainly happened over there," remarked Bob
Somers to Charlie Blake, as he lined a batted ball back to Singleton.
"I guess I know what it is," sighed the "grind." "Suppose, by this
time, 'Crackers' Brown thinks he's it."
In spite of the continual commotion which rang unpleasantly in their
ears the nine kept on practicing, with but a very small audience on the
field.
At length the slight figure of Benny Wilkins was seen approaching as
fast as his rather short legs could carry him.
"Hi, hi, fellows!" he gasped. "Hi, hi! No use for you to play any
more. I've got the awfulest news. Don't throw that ball, Dave Brandon;
it's no use, I tell you. 'Four ten P. M.'--got it all chalked
down--'Somers and Company thrown out by more than a unanimous vote!
Rambler Club changes its name to the Hikers.'"
The sensation which Benny hoped to produce did not materialize. The
staunch Somers adherents who had refrained from voting were fully
prepared for the announcement, while most of the players merely grinned.
"Well, you're a cool lot!" growled Benny, in disgust. "Haven't you
anything to say, T. Vanitas?"
A few weeks before, Tom Clifton would probably have made a hot retort,
adding a few remarks which might have been twisted into something
highly boastful. Now, however, he merely shook his head, and answered
with a smile:
"No news for the note-book, Benny."
"Oh, you're a peacherino. I thought you'd go over and scatter that
howling mob single-handed. I can see Brown has your number."
"Benny is agitated," laughed Alf Boggs.
"Who wouldn't be when a chap's lifelong friends are given such an awful
sack? And I kept on hollering and hollering 'Hooray for Somers!' I did
so, Fred Benson. Ask Parksy. Say, for his size, he has the biggest
fist in school. Going to sell your uniforms, fellows? I know a good
second-hand dealer. You won't fight this thing, will you, Somers?"
"There's nothing to fight, Benny."
"Oh, my, oh, my! If 'Crackers' should ever hear that! I'm going to tell
him. Hooray! Guess that means a bigger scrap than ever. Look at this
bunch of hotheads coming over. Get ready to run."
Shouts and songs rising on the air and constantly growing louder
announced the approach of the crowd.
Rather fearful that some impetuous students might feel inclined to stir
up more excitement, Coach Steele stopped further practice.
"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."
"Nice job facing that staring mob!" grumbled Charlie Blake. "Wish to
thunder it was all over."
"I almost feel like losing my temper and being rude to some one,"
sighed Dave Brandon.
In spite of their feelings the players swung toward the gymnasium door
with a firm tread, passing between lines of deeply interested, jostling
boys whose sallies and jests all allowed to pass unnoticed.
Inside the big room conditions were pretty much the same. But the ball
players did not pause until the office of the athletic association was
reached.
The indignation meeting had had the effect of bringing every officer
and some of the directors to the scene of action. As they entered Harry
Spearman was found pacing the floor excitedly.
"Hello, Bob!" he called, catching sight of the captain. "This has been
a fierce afternoon, eh? Brown carried things with a high hand. By
George! Let any of you fellows waver, and I don't believe I'd ever
speak to you again."
"No use to get excited, Spearman," admonished Sam Randall. "If there is
a sign of backdown anywhere I haven't been able to see it."
"Only because you're short-sighted, Sammy," screeched Benny Wilkins,
who at that instant pushed open the door and peered in. "Get specs like
Brown."
"Sneak away from there!" cried Harry Spearman, wrathfully. "Go on, now;
get!"
"What's the matter? Can't a fellow even spy in the open any longer?
Dave Brandon said----"
Harry thrust him aside and slammed the door.
"Those fellows think the thing is all settled," he exclaimed. "If it
hadn't been for Brown and Lawrence talking a fierce streak to a lot of
weak dubs who don't know their own minds----"
"Oh, what's the use of going all over that again?" broke in Dick
Travers, impatiently. "Let's----"
Bang--bang!
Two sharp cracks on the door echoed noisily.
"Come in!" called Sam Randall.
"Crackers" Brown, wearing a solemn expression, promptly entered, his
lieutenants, Lawrence and Roycroft, following close behind.
"Good-afternoon, fellows!" exclaimed the coach of the "Hopes," without
a trace of excitement in his manner. "Gee! Awful big crowd in here for
such a small room."
An awkward silence, broken only by the sound of footsteps and the
scraping of a chair, as Sam changed his position, added to the pent-up
feelings which Harry Spearman was finding it hard to control.
Brown improved the moment by polishing his glasses industriously. Then
he sidled over to the window, where his stoop-shouldered form was
silhouetted in lines of uncompromising hardness against the panes.
"Randall," he began, deliberately, "we three have been delegated by a
number of students to bring to your notice the fact that the 'Hopes'
have been chosen by a most decisive vote to represent the school. The
thing was done fairly and aboveboard. None of you fellows would even
speak a word in your own defense."
Sam nodded coldly.
"You cannot go against the wish of the majority." The chief "outlaw"
brought out his words emphatically. "We wish to state that the 'Hopes'
are going to play Rockville Academy on Saturday."
"Are they?" cried Harry Spearman, excitedly.
"No athletic association is greater than the school it represents. The
boys have spoken. Listen! Here is the result of the vote." "Crackers"
could not conceal a feeling of elation as he droned out the figures. He
paused to receive an answer, but, hearing none, continued:
"This thing ought to be settled amicably. If you fellows are in earnest
about winning that field for the school you'll show it by handing your
resignations to the board of directors."
"Indeed!" sneered Harry Spearman. "For an absolutely unmitigated piece
of nerve and impudence that's the worst I ever heard."
"We didn't come here, to scrap but to talk quietly over the situation
and reach some conclusion," said "Crackers," smoothly. "Now, Randall,
what do you propose to do?"
"The athletic association does not concede that the school has the
right to dictate to it in such a way. We don't intend to ask any
members of the baseball club to resign."
"You don't, eh?" burst out Owen Lawrence. "Well, the boys are not going
to stand for any more exhibitions of obstinacy on your part. It's
either get out quietly or be thrown out!"
"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."
"Ice-water is good for hotheads!" came through the keyhole.
"Our policy has been dictated by a thorough belief in the team," said
Sam Randall, "and, incidentally, we have felt bound to stand up for our
rights."
"We're to understand, then, that you defy the whole school?" exclaimed
Owen Lawrence. He glared at the boys ranged around the table. "Just
remember--there's a big crowd in the gym waiting to get your answer."
"I wouldn't call it such a harsh word as that," said Sam Randall. "The
fellows are temporarily against us; that's all. They'll soon see it
themselves."
"Crackers" Brown continued to argue, pointing out in his calm way
the consequences which might result if the regulars persisted in
their course. Owen Lawrence, of combative temperament, threatened and
stormed. Earl Roycroft took a middle course, doing his best to act as
peacemaker.
But, to their combined efforts, Sam Randall, as spokesman of the
athletic association, gave a final, and negative answer.
"All right--nothing doing here!" growled Brown. "There'll be a lot
doing somewhere else, however."
"Crackers" Brown, with a curt "So-long!" strode to the door, throwing
it open so suddenly that Benny uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Can't you be more polite when a fellow has his eye to the keyhole,
Brown?" he complained. "Got thrown down hard, didn't you? I'm going to
tell the fellows."
A crowd quickly surrounded the three "outlaws," loudly demanding
particulars of the meeting.
"No one seems to have any rights in this school except themselves,"
growled Owen Lawrence. "I thought it would be a waste of time to talk
to 'em."
The boys became angry and belligerent.
"They won't be dictated to by the school, eh?" sneered one. "Well,
we're not going to lose a championship and a dandy ball field just for
the sake of Bob Somers' pride. We've voted 'em out; and, by Jingo,
they're going out! That's all there is to it."
"And if they try to play Rockville on Saturday," exclaimed Aleck Parks,
"there'll be a nice hot time on the old lot."
"We ought to run them right off the field," added Luke Phelps.
"Quit that kind of talk," commanded Earl Roycroft. "I know you'll try
to stir up the biggest row you can. Say, Brown," he added, "I'm going
over to see President Hopkins. Maybe he'll help us straighten out this
tangle. Get him on our side and those fellows might come down from
their perch."
"Don't believe the prin'll do it," said "Crackers," "but try it if you
want. Yes; we'll wait right here."
During the absence of the big first baseman of the "Hopes," the boys
discussed the situation in excited tones, some of the more impetuous
often hurrahing lustily.
When Earl returned, in about fifteen minutes, a rush was made for the
door.
"How about it?" demanded Parks.
"President Hopkins says he can't interfere, boys," answered Roycroft,
slowly. "It's mighty easy to see that he's sore on our crowd,
too--good as told me so."
"Of course that isn't any news to me," sniffed Owen Lawrence. "Didn't
Brown get handed the same dose?"
"There's been enough talk about this thing, fellows," broke in
"Crackers." He looked over the rim of his glasses at the noisy crowd;
then, raising his voice so that it penetrated to all parts of the big
room, he added significantly: "What we want now is action."