"Capital idea! I suppose the Somers crowd will entrench themselves behind the regularity racket. That set of iron-clad by-laws Tom Clifton got up doesn't recognize any little outlaw scheme like ours." "Red tape versus common sense. I take it that the school has some say in things of this sort. If Steele will agree to take on the players we suggest--all right; if not"--"Crackers" spoke as mildly as though ordering a plate of pie--"the worst insurrection in the history of the school is about to begin." "The fellows'll soon be coming over to our side so fast that it will make you think of an avalanche in the Alps," predicted Owen. "What's that?" He put his hand to his ear. Faint cries of "Rah, rah, rah for Somers!" were coming over the still air from somewhere in the distance. "That kind of thing only makes it more interesting," added the new student, with a grin. "Let's get over on the field. There's a big bunch ready for practice," said Brown. Every member of the regular club was present when the "Outlaws," as Benny Wilkins had dubbed the new set of players, got to work. Tom Clifton surveyed the proceedings with a heavy scowl, treating with silent scorn, for the most part, the jibes which were occasionally flung toward him by members of the opposition. "Honest, Bob, it makes me almost boil over," he confessed. "Listen to that buttermilk voice of Brown's!" He turned, as a hand was laid on his shoulder. "Oh! How are you, Steele! What do you think of this?" "I'm sorry there's disaffection in the school," answered the coach; "otherwise I'm prepared to enjoy the afternoon." Things on the lot were not as they had been when the other players alone occupied it. Sounds of heated arguments often rose above the hum of voices. Fortunately there was enough room for the two clubs to practice without interference, and the regulars and "outlaws" seldom came within speaking distance. On this occasion Coach Brown and his men proved to be the great attraction. A steady stream of schoolboys ebbed and flowed on the lot, eagerly watching every move of the candidates. "Now we'll see some ball tossing that is ball tossing!" cried Aleck Parks. "This does me good," said Luke Phelps. "There's Earl Roycroft over there. Looks big enough for a hold-out major league player, eh? No fanning the air for Earl." "Who do the Willie-boys play next?" asked Parks. "Oh, some club from Engleton. Don't know much about 'em; but Mercer says they are players, though the Stars waltzed over one day, and, even without Tippen in the box, put 'em in wrong to the tune of seven to three." "Then Nat's team hasn't lost a game yet. Here, Checkered-Cap, you don't belong on this field. Skip out!" "Oh, you saucy thing! Who's going to make me?" asked Victor Collins. "I will--if your line of talk doesn't suit," threatened Aleck.