had gathered by themselves on this Tuesday, at recess.
They did not discuss the football call, nor its reception by the "soreheads," for they had known what was coming.

Just before recess was over, however, there were sudden sounds of a riot around the bulletin board.
"Tear that down!" "Throw 'em out!" "Raus mit!" "The mean cheats!" There was a surging rush of High School boys for the bulletin board.
Bayliss and Fremont, both of the senior class, who had just posted a new notice, were now trying to push their way through an angry crowd of youngsters that had collected.
"They're no good!" "A disgrace to the school!" "Send 'em to Coventry!" "No! Handle 'em right now!" There was another rush.
"Get back, you hoodlums!" yelled Bayliss, his face violet with rage.
"I'll crack the head of any fellow that lays hands on me!" stormed Fremont.
"Oh, will he?
Come on, then, fellows!" Fremont was caught up as though by a cyclone.

Two or three fellows seized him at a time, passing him down the corridor.

The last to receive the hapless Fremont propelled him through the main doorway of the school building.

Nor was this done with any gentle force, either.
Bayliss, not attempting to fight, was simply hustled along on his feet.
Out of one of the rooms near by rushed Mr.Cantwell, the principal---or "Prin." as he was known, his face white with the anger that he felt over what he regarded as a most unseemly disturbance.
"Stop this riot, young gentlemen!" commanded the principal sternly.
"Send in the riot call, like you did last year!" piped up a disguised, thin, falsetto voice from the outskirts of the rapidly growing crowd.