"Don't! Wait a minute!" begged Paul Drew. "Let's talk this over a bit, first. Something's got to be done about it. We can't let this insult pass. I wish Dick Hamilton was here." "Where is he?" asked Beeby, as he folded the crumpled letter. "He went to town to send a message home, I guess. He'll soon be back." "Let's go to the Sacred Pig, and talk this over," suggested Dutton, as he opened a few buttons on his tightly fitting parade coat, for drill among the cadets was just over, and they had not yet gotten into their fatigue uniforms. "Yes, let's plan some scheme to get even with those Blue Hill snobs," added Paul. "Say Toots," he went on to one of the janitors about the academy, "if you see Mr. Hamilton, just send him over to the Sacred Pig, will you?" "I sure will, Mr. Drew," and Toots, so called because he was generally whistling some military air, saluted. The cadets still talking among themselves about the churlish letter they had received, passed on toward a society chapter house--that of the Sacred Pig--one of the most exclusive organizations among the cadets of Kentfield. "If Anderson wanted to turn us down why didn't he simply say that all their dates were filled?" demanded Beeby, on whom the blow fell especially heavy, as he was manager of the eleven. "Well, if the truth _had_ to be told I suppose it might as well come out first as last," spoke Paul frankly. "The truth!" demanded Innis Beeby, half indignantly. "Yes! Kentfield hasn't a good team, and we all know it. It's no one's fault in particular," went on Paul, "but we don't practice enough, we don't play well enough together, and we were the tail-enders last year. We might as well face the music." "Even if it isn't particularly harmonious," commented Innis bitterly, as he walked up the steps of the handsome society house. "Well, let's see what we can do." The rest of the cadets followed, to be greeted by a number of other students who were already gathered in the pleasant reading room. There was a general movement toward the newcomers when the news quickly flashed around, and the letter was passed from hand to hand. There were more comments, caustic ones in the main, and had Manager Anderson been present he would probably have had several challenges to fight, for the feeling was bitter against him. "You can't beat this for nerve!" declared Jim Watkins. "I say, let's get up a good team, and force 'em to play us," suggested Teddy Naylor. "How are you going to force 'em?" demanded Frank Rutley. "Why, play such fast and snappy games that they can't refuse us--get in the champion class--_make_ 'em recognize us." "Oh, it's easy enough to talk," murmured Innis, "but when it comes to a football team----" "What's the matter with the football team?" demanded a new voice, and a tall, good-looking cadet, bronzed almost to a copper color, came in. "Are we going to have practice to-day?" "Hello, Dick!" "Glad you came in, Hamilton." "You're just in time to hear the news."