The sudden and unexpected "crawl" of the "outlaws" was so amazing to their supporters that howls of protest and derisive cries arose from every point in the gathering. "What in thunder is the matter with you, Brown?" roared Aleck Parks, furiously. "I thought he was going to fight the thing out to a finish," groaned Luke Phelps. "And the crowd is with him as solid as a stone wall. Hang it all, but I am disgusted!" The regulars were as much astonished as any of the others. When the three leaders of the "Hope" movement turned away, and the crowd scattered as promptly as though blown about by some current of wind, they began to congratulate each other. The discontented majority, however, refused to be quieted. Feeling ran so high that it seemed as if a riotous demonstration might begin at any moment. "Get the game started as quickly as you can," ordered Coach Steele. "It's the only way to quiet 'em," agreed Barr. "Never expected to run into anything like this. Let's toss up for choice of innings." Bob's side having won, the visitors started for the players' bench. As they did so they saw something which caused them to utter loud exclamations of astonishment and anger. And what they and every one else saw was bringing shouts of approval and encouragement from a mass of turbulent boys. The home plate and each of the three bases was covered by a large-sized soap box, and on every box sat a grinning youth. "What does this mean?" cried Ed Barr, fairly racing to the home station, where Dan Brown occupied a prominent position. "What does this mean?" echoed "Crackers." He looked calmly at the agitated manager. "It means just this, Barr: no game will be played here to-day unless we do our share of the playing." CHAPTER XXII PLAIN TALK The field was in an uproar. The gleeful supporters of the "Hopes," at this new turn in affairs, roared their approval. And through all the turmoil and confusion the "outlaws" who were not sitting on the bases gathered at advantageous points on the field, apparently ready and anxious to resist any attempt to put them off. When Bob Somers, followed by the rest of the team, came running over a hostile demonstration broke forth. "Get off the field!" shouted one. "We want real ball players!" came from another. "The school won't stand for your kind of playing!" yelled a third. The small minority still loyal to the regulars voiced a vociferous protest, and, backing up their words with action, gathered about the players. "Chase 'em right off the field, boys!" bawled Owen Lawrence. The bodyguard, fearful that his order might be carried into execution, prepared to meet the emergency with every means at their command. "This is an outrage!" yelled Harry Spearman. "I protest." "Keep on protesting--that's all the good it will do you," sneered a partisan of the "Hopes." "We'll show you the kind of stuff we're made of."