He listened a moment in seeming astonishment, then strode heavily across the floor, making for the point of loudest noise. "What does all this mean, boys?" bellowed Captain Ralph Bunderley. "Do you want to take the roof off, or crack the window-panes? I've been looking for my nephew, Victor Collins; and I've found him, and something else I didn't bargain for." The unexpected appearance of the burly seaman in their midst had the effect of quelling all but the most turbulent spirits. "I'd like to know what's going on!" "Uncle, let me introduce you to the biggest bunch of fire-eaters in Wisconsin," called Victor. "It's a revolution--that's what it is, isn't it, Brownie?" From a dozen points in the room came the explanation that Captain Bunderley was seeking. The skipper was astonished and angry. "I should think you boys would have better sense than to act this way," he stormed. "What do you expect to gain by such conduct?" "A ball field and grand stand," answered Brown. "All ridiculous nonsense!" The captain struck the palm of his hand an emphatic blow. "The boys have done right to refuse to play such an organization." "Have you recently entered the High as a student?" asked Brown. A fierce glare sprang into the captain's eyes. "I would suggest, sir," continued Brown, smoothly, "that the students are not asking advice from outsiders." "I beg pardon," said the captain, "but I thought a little friendly counsel might not come amiss." "It's the way you offer your suggestions that hurts our feelings," said Brown, quite candidly. "Really, I expected to find myself flying through space." "'Crackers' felt as if he'd been banged on the head," added Benny Wilkins. "Who's got a note-book? My new one's full already." "My esteemed young friend," said "Crackers," turning toward him, "I saw a bargain sale on Central Avenue. Let me advise you to get a dozen at once. Even then, I fear, it won't be enough to hold an account of what our team--the 'Hopes'--are going to do." CHAPTER XIV REBELLION "You can put your request in writing, Brown; but, honestly, I don't think it will do a bit of good." Sam Randall, president of the athletic association and member of the Rambler Club, seated at his desk in a room which adjoined the gymnasium, gazed squarely into his visitor's face. It was late on the same afternoon, for Brown had determined to force the issue at once. Within the last year Sam Randall had grown to be quite a young man in appearance. All the lines about his clean-cut face tending to firmness had become accentuated, and he had a quiet, decisive manner which even had its effect on the imperturbable Brown. "I'm to understand, then, that my challenge has been thrown down flat?" Sam Randall toyed with a paper-weight on his desk. "No, I can't say that, Brown. I'm only one of the officers of the association. The others must speak for themselves."