CHAPTER I
TURNED DOWN
"Well, if those fellows haven't got nerve!"
"I should say so! Why it's a direct insult!"
"We ought to challenge 'em to a sham battle. I know we could put it allover 'em at that game, if we can't at football; eh, fellows?"
"Sure thing!" came in a chorus from a group of cadets who surrounded arather fat, good-natured companion. The latter held an open letter inhis hand, and had just finished reading it, the contents causing thevarious exclamations.
"Say, Beeby," spoke Paul Drew, "are you sure it isn't a joke? Maybethey're just trying to have fun with us."
"Fun! This is serious enough," replied the stout youth, "Frank Anderson,manager of the Blue Hill Academy eleven, takes pains to be veryexplicit. Listen."
Once more Beeby read the note.
"In reply to your challenge for a series of football games, in the Military League, and your request that we give you a contest at an early date, we regret to say that our team cannot play yours. To be frank, we do not think that your eleven is in the same class with ours. We won nearly every game we played last season, and, you know, as well as do we, that Kentfield was away down at the tail end.
"It is the sense of the Athletic Committee of Blue Hill Military Academy that we must play with teams of greater strength and in a better class than the one that represents Kentfield. If you wish, perhaps I can arrange some games with our second team, but not with the first.
"Regretting very much that we cannot accept your challenge, I remain,
"Yours very truly,
"FRANK ANDERSON, Manager."
"Well, wouldn't that put a crimp in your bayonet?" demanded John Stiver.
"They'll condescend to let their second team come over and beat us!"exclaimed Ray Dutton sarcastically. "Bur-r-r-r-r!"
"Oh, say, this makes me mad!" spluttered Beeby, and he made as though totear the letter to shreds.
"Don't! Wait a minute!" begged Paul Drew. "Let's talk this over a bit,first. Something's got to be done about it. We can't let this insultpass. I wish Dick Hamilton was here."
"Where is he?" asked Beeby, as he folded the crumpled letter.
"He went to town to send a message home, I guess. He'll soon be back."
"Let's go to the Sacred Pig, and talk this over," suggested Dutton, ashe opened a few buttons on his tightly fitting parade coat, for drillamong the cadets was just over, and they had not yet gotten into theirfatigue uniforms.
"Yes, let's plan some scheme to get even with those Blue Hill snobs,"added Paul. "Say Toots," he went on to one of the janitors about theacademy, "if you see Mr. Hamilton, just send him over to the Sacred Pig,will you?"
"I sure will, Mr. Drew," and Toots, so called because he was generallywhistling some military air, saluted.
The cadets still talking among themselves about the churlish letter theyhad received, passed on toward a society chapter house--that of theSacred Pig--one of the most exclusive organizations among the cadets ofKentfield.
"If Anderson wanted to turn us down why didn't he simply say that alltheir dates were filled?" demanded Beeby, on whom the blow fellespecially heavy, as he was manager of the eleven.
"Well, if the truth _had_ to be told I suppose it might as well come outfirst as last," spoke Paul frankly.
"The truth!" demanded Innis Beeby, half indignantly.
"Yes! Kentfield hasn't a good team, and we all know it. It's no one'sfault in particular," went on Paul, "but we don't practice enough, wedon't play well enough together, and we were the tail-enders last year.We might as well face the music."
"Even if it isn't particularly harmonious," commented Innis bitterly, ashe walked up the steps of the handsome society house. "Well, let's seewhat we can do."
The rest of the cadets followed, to be greeted by a number of otherstudents who were already gathered in the pleasant reading room. Therewas a general movement toward the newcomers when the news quicklyflashed around, and the letter was passed from hand to hand.
There were more comments, caustic ones in the main, and had ManagerAnderson been present he would probably have had several challenges tofight, for the feeling was bitter against him.
"You can't beat this for nerve!" declared Jim Watkins.
"I say, let's get up a good team, and force 'em to play us," suggestedTeddy Naylor.
"How are you going to force 'em?" demanded Frank Rutley.
"Why, play such fast and snappy games that they can't refuse us--get inthe champion class--_make_ 'em recognize us."
"Oh, it's easy enough to talk," murmured Innis, "but when it comes to afootball team----"
"What's the matter with the football team?" demanded a new voice, and atall, good-looking cadet, bronzed almost to a copper color, came in."Are we going to have practice to-day?"
"Hello, Dick!"
"Glad you came in, Hamilton."
"You're just in time to hear the news."
These were some of the expressions that greeted the advent of thenewcomer. Dick Hamilton pressed up into the group of indignant lads, andaccepted the letter which Innis held out to him.
"Read that!" spluttered the stout lad.
As Dick read a dull flush crept up under his coat of tan.
"Um!" was his only comment for a moment. Then he said: "Well, he didn'tsoften it any. But how about it; isn't it almost true?"
"That's what I say," cried Paul Drew.
"We haven't a very good team, that's a fact," admitted Jim Watkins, whoplayed centre.
"Oh, bosh! You fellows make me tired," declared Innis. "You are almostas bad as Anderson."
"Well, we ought to perk up."
"Oh pshaw! We can play all right."
"All we need is practice."
"And a little harder work against the scrub."
These and other comments flew back and forth. Dick Hamilton strolledtoward an easy chair near a table. Casually he picked up a paper, andglanced over it as the discussion waxed warmer. There were two sides,one set of cadets holding that the eleven was not so bad, and the othersmaintaining that the players should not shut their eyes to facts, butendeavor to correct their faults. Both factions numbered members of theteam, so it could not be said that prejudice shaped the opinions.
"Well, what do think about it, Dick?" asked Paul at length, as he satdown beside his roommate.
"About what?" asked the young millionaire, somewhat absently-mindedly.
"Well, for the love of mustard! Have you been dreaming while all thisracket was going on? And you read that letter, too! I say, Dick, what'sup?"
"Oh, yes, I remember now. I was thinking of something else," and Dickrecovered himself with an effort, seeming to bring his thoughts backfrom some distant point. "The football team."
"Of course, the eleven--or, rather, the woeful lack of one. What's to bedone, Dick? I rather thought you might have a scheme, when you heard thenews."
There was silence in the room for a moment, and nearly all eyes wereturned on Dick Hamilton.
"A plan--yes--I might--by Jove, fellows, I believe I have a plan!" heexclaimed suddenly. "It ought to work, too. We've got to have the bestteam on the gridiron in the Military League, and just now I thought ofsomething that will bring it about."
"Then in the name of the two-horned rhinoceros speak it quickly!" beggedInnis. "Say something so I can get back at this dub Anderson. I'll writehim a hot one!"
"Oh, it will take a little while to put it through," went on the youngmillionaire, "but I believe I can do it. Now my plan is----"
At that moment one of the pages employed at the society house, which wassort of cadet club, approached the eager group of students.
"Beg pardon," the page said, "but here is a telegram that just came forMr. Hamilton."
Dick tore open the yellow envelope. He read the message at a glance andseemed to start as at the receipt of unwelcome news.
"I've got to go out for a while," he
said to his chums. "I'll be back assoon as possible. This is important."
"But your football plan," begged Innis.
"I'll tell it when I come back," called Dick Hamilton as he hurried out,leaving a much-wondering group of cadets looking after him.