“Yes, I think the idea’s a good one, if you don’t carry your antagonism to extremes. As to coming over and pitching for you, I can’t promise definitely. I’d be glad to do it, of course, if things shape themselves right.” “Hurray!” went up a general shout of delight, and Billy Mac patted his friend on the back, until Merry almost choked. “Hurray for you, Chip! I knew you wouldn’t go back on us!” he cried. “By gum, we’ll have the first practice this afternoon!” exclaimed McCarthy, in high excitement. “Chub can get off o’ the store, I reckon, and we’ll go down to the river an’ start things! Jim, can we get enough fellers together?” “I guess so,” assented Spaulding, with a nod. “Merriwell might be able to give us some good advice, and he could get a line on our work.” He was interrupted by a sudden cry from Chub Newton. “Hey! L-l-look out, fel-l-lers! Here they come!” Merry and the others turned quickly. Bearing down upon them was Bully Carson, a bat in his hand, and crowding around him were the members of the Clippers. One and all looked ugly in the extreme. CHAPTER VI. A CHALLENGE. As the Clippers approached, there was no sign of giving way in the ground around Merriwell. The Carsonville boys were not equal in numbers, but they were plainly anxious enough for battle. Carson paused a few yards distant. “Well, what do you want?” snapped Merry. “We’re goin’ to run you out o’ town, see?” retorted Squint Fletcher, his cross eyes glaring savagely. “You’re here tryin’ to stir up trouble against us, eh? Well, you don’t get no chance.” “I think you’re misinformed,” returned Chip quietly. “No one’s stirring up a fuss except you.” “Oh, is that so?” Bully Carson pushed forward aggressively, clutching his bat. “I suppose you didn’t try to kill dad yesterday, hey? I suppose you didn’t set Billy Mac on me, hey?” “You’re doing a lot of supposing,” said Merry dryly. “Your thinking apparatus needs oiling, Bully. Try a cigarette. It may straighten out things.” Merriwell’s calm demeanor, and the resolute air of the group around him, rather cooled the ardor of the Clippers. It only angered Carson and Fletcher the more, however. “So you’re the famous Chip Merriwell, hey?” spluttered Squint, shoving his undershot chin forward. “I guess we’ve heard enough slush out o’ you and the rest o’ this gang. Let’s beat ’em up proper, fellers!” “Yah!” chirruped Chub, dancing on the outskirts of the crowd. “Try it! Ask Bul-l-ly where he got that bump on his chin. Ask him!” This sally scored, for Billy Mac’s fist had left unmistakable marks on the heavy countenance of the captain of the Clippers. “You’ll get yours, you little runt!” foamed the angry Carson, brandishing his bat at Chub. “We’ll make you pretty sick of lettin’ off your jaw around here!” “Well, you’re a mighty slow bunch to git started,” observed the lanky, bronzed McCarthy, who worked in the orchards, and looked it. He spat on his hands. “I allus did want to paste them lamps of yours, Squint.”