The throng surged about the bulletin board, newcomers arriving every minute, and all the cadets making various observations as they were pleased or disappointed. Teddy Naylor was not in sight. He had heard the news, and in the bitterness of his heart he kept to himself for a while. Yet he did not complain. Teddy played the game fairly, and he was a loyal son of Kentfield. He was willing to defer to the judgment of the coaches--yet no one but himself knew how he longed to be among the first squad, and with a grim setting of his lips he resolved to make it before the big games were played. "Well, come on," invited Paul to Dick. "I'll treat you to a soda on the strength of this." "Don't you think it will put us out of training?" "One can't. We've got to celebrate in some way." The two chums strolled across the campus arm in arm, toward a spot where an enterprising dealer, well aware of the desire for sweets on the part of the students, had set up a little confectionery shop. As Paul and his chum neared it they saw, walking toward them, Porter and Weston. The cronies were talking earnestly together. "I wonder if Porter's heard?" ventured Paul. "If he hasn't he soon will. I'm sorry for him. He's a brilliant player, but careless. He may come back before the season is over." "He isn't much of an addition to the team--too snobby for me," spoke Paul in a low voice. Porter suddenly seemed to become aware of Dick's presence, for Weston called his attention to it. Glancing up quickly, a black look passed over the features of the rich youth. Then striding ahead of his companion, he confronted our hero. "Well, you've heard the news I suppose?" he snarled. "About the announcements being made?" inquired Dick gently. "No--about me being off the team." "Yes, I'm sorry, but perhaps----" "Oh, yes; you're sorry!" snapped Porter. "But I notice that _your_ name is down all right." "Yes," and Dick controlled himself by an effort, for the tone was insulting. "We all know why you're on the Varsity. It isn't because of your star playing." "I never claimed to be a star," was the calm answer, "but I probably played well enough to be picked." "No, you didn't!" fairly shouted Porter. "You were picked because it is your money that's paying the salaries of the coaches and they were afraid if they didn't pick you that they'd lose their jobs. That's why you're on the Varsity, Dick Hamilton, and you can put that in your pipe and smoke it!" Porter, with a sneer on his puffed and red face, swung around angrily, and started off. "Wait one minute, Mr. Porter," called Dick in a strangely quiet voice. "I want to say something to you." "No, let me say it," begged Paul quickly, as Porter turned and faced them. CHAPTER X DICK IS REBUFFED