Why don't you start-----" "My place, Captain Prescott, is with the team I'm coaching," replied the submaster.

"And I think the signs are that we're going to need all the pairs of fists that we have, and, more, too." The baggage wagon came to the door.

Dick, Dave and Tom coolly loaded the baggage on.

The wagon started off at good speed.
Then the two stages drove up to the door.
"Pile in, boys!" called one of the drivers.
Neither of the stage drivers was in the secret of what was likely to happen down the road.
The start was made, the horses moving barely faster than a walk.
By this time the athletic field was practically deserted.

There was no sign of the presence of the Fordham High School team, nor of the bad element that Barnes had enlisted.
It was not until the stages had proceeded nearly four blocks that Dave, sitting beside Dick on the driver's seat of the first stage, caught sight of some bobbing heads further up the road.
"There they are," whispered Dave.