Tuesday morning, with many secret misgivings, Coach Morton, who was also one of the submasters of the High School, posted the call for the football squad. The call was for three o'clock Thursday afternoon, at the gym. "Humph!" was the audible and only comment of Bayliss, as he stood before the school bulletin board at recess and read the announcement. "I guess the day for football here has gone by," observed Porter sneeringly. "Of interest to ragamuffins only," sneered Paulson, as he turned away to join Fremont of the senior class. "Listen to the wild enthusiasm over upholding the school's honor in athletics," muttered Dave, scowling darkly. "We knew it was coming," declared Tom Reade. Abner Cantwell was still principal at Gridley High School, though that violent-tempered and unpopular pedagogue had been engaged, this year, only as "substitute" principal. There were rumors that Dr. Thornton, the former and much-loved principal, would soon be in sufficiently good health to return. So the Board of Education had left the way clear for dropping Mr. Cantwell at any moment that it might see fit. Dick & Co. had gathered by themselves on this Tuesday, at recess. They did not discuss the football call, nor its reception by the "soreheads," for they had known what was coming. Just before recess was over, however, there were sudden sounds of a riot around the bulletin board. "Tear that down!" "Throw 'em out!" "Raus mit!" "The mean cheats!" There was a surging rush of High School boys for the bulletin board. Bayliss and Fremont, both of the senior class, who had just posted a new notice, were now trying to push their way through an angry crowd of youngsters that had collected. "They're no good!" "A disgrace to the school!" "Send 'em to Coventry!" "No! Handle 'em right now!" There was another rush. "Get back, you hoodlums!" yelled Bayliss, his face violet with rage. "I'll crack the head of any fellow that lays hands on me!" stormed Fremont. "Oh, will he? Come on, then, fellows!" Fremont was caught up as though by a cyclone. Two or three fellows seized him at a time, passing him down the corridor. The last to receive the hapless Fremont propelled him through the main doorway of the school building. Nor was this done with any gentle force, either. Bayliss, not attempting to fight, was simply hustled along on his feet. Out of one of the rooms near by rushed Mr. Cantwell, the principal---or "Prin." as he was known, his face white with the anger that he felt over what he regarded as a most unseemly disturbance. "Stop this riot, young gentlemen!" commanded the principal sternly. "Send in the riot call, like you did last year!" piped up a disguised, thin, falsetto voice from the outskirts of the rapidly growing crowd. Quite a lot of the girls had gathered, too, by this time. The principal turned around, sharply, as some of the girls began to giggle. But Mr. Cantwell was unable to detect the one who had thus taunted him.