“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.  Quite a lot of the girls had gathered, too, by this time.

The principal turned around, sharply, as some of the girls began to giggle.  But Mr. Cantwell was unable to detect the one who had thus taunted him.

Coach Morton peered over the railing of the floor above.

“Mr. Morton!” called the principal.

“Yes, sir.”

“Sound the assembling gong, if you please.”

Clang! clang! clang!

The din of the gong cut their recess four minutes short, but not one of the excited High School boys regretted it.  They had had a chance to express themselves, and now fell in, filing down to the locker rooms, then up the stairs once more to the assembly room.  Bayliss and Fremont came in, joining the others.  They were white-faced, but strove to carry their heads very high.

The sounding of the gong had stopped the circulating of the paper that had been so angrily torn down from the bulletin board.  It was in Dick Prescott’s hands now.

The notice had announced the formation of a “select” party for a straw ride for the young men and young women of the junior and senior classes on Thursday afternoon, starting at two-thirty o’clock.  Invitations would be issued by the committee, after requests for tickets had been passed upon by that committee.  Bayliss, Fremont and Paulson signed the notice of the straw ride.