Concisely, and with telling effect, the coach told of the events which had happened at the Kingswood High. His flashing eyes and vigorous manner, backed up by the cool and determined attitude of Bob Somers and Dave Brandon, soon made the visitors regard things in a different light. As Owen Lawrence saw them wavering his belligerent manner increased. "This is the time your bluff won't work, Somers!" he cried, angrily. "I wouldn't advise you to talk too much, or you might get run right off the field." "Who's going to do it?" asked Bob. "I may take a hand myself." "Well, you can start a rough-house if you like. I can tell you this much, Owen Lawrence: the regulars are here to play ball, and they're going to do it." "Hooray--hooray!" shouted Benny Wilkins. "There's sand for you--pure grit. Sand is gritty; so is Somers." The clamor of the excited, jostling mob, the yells of encouragement from first one side, then the other, and apparently every sound which boys are able to produce made such an uproarious noise that the voices of the speakers were often entirely swallowed up. One by one the members of the regular team fought their way to the center of interest. "Come now, Somers, be reasonable," pleaded Earl Roycroft. "Can't you see that by keeping up this thing you're liable to start an awful rumpus?" "You're the fellows who won't listen to reason," returned Bob. "Why don't you quit this row and let us play?" "We would if you only knew how," jeered Lawrence. "Better cool off, Somers. It would take only a few words from Brown and me to send you marathoning into the distance as fast as though a number one size grizzly was within a foot of your spiked shoes." "Talk like that isn't going to have any effect," laughed Coach Steele. "Please get back. We want to begin the game." Dan Brown's soft, easy manner suddenly underwent a tremendous change. His voice became harsh and rasping as he demanded: "What are you Rockville fellows going to do? Do you intend to play us or not?" "Pinky" Crane stared at his companions. Being more gifted in ball playing than diplomacy, he was plainly stumped. "It's too much for me," he confessed, blankly. "How about it, Barr?" The manager, a sturdy young fellow with a strong, aggressive chin and an equally positive manner, kicked at the turf a moment before replying. Then, looking squarely into "Crackers" Brown's face, he exclaimed: "This is what I have to say: we'll play the regularly organized team. No mushroom nine for me." He shook his finger vigorously in the chief "outlaw's" face. "Now beat it! Enough of this fuss. We're going to start." "Very good, sir!" Brown's former manner returned. "We're ordered to skip, Lawrence. There is nothing to do but follow the manager's instructions. Sorry, boys, to have annoyed you so much. Really, your manner quite pained me. No hard feelings, I hope?" "None at all," said Barr, heartily.