This was the means by which the “soreheads” chose to announce that they would ignore the football squad call for Thursday.

Wisely, for once, the principal did not choose to question the young men regarding the excitement attending the close of recess.  Studies and recitations went on as usual.

But feeling ran high.  The “soreheads” and their sympathizers were known, by this time, to all the other young men of the student body.  During the rest of the day’s session many a “sorehead” found himself being regarded with black or sneering looks.

Of course the self-elected “exclusive” set was not numerously represented in the High School.  Most of the boys and girls did not come from well-to-do families.  Some who did had refused to have anything to do with the “sorehead” crowd.

The instant that school was dismissed that Tuesday afternoon scores of the more boisterous boys rushed from the building, across the yard, and double-lined the sidewalk leading from the gateway.

“Ugh! ugh! ugh!” they groaned, whenever any of the “soreheads” tried to walk this gauntlet in dignified silence.

“Let’s keep out of that, fellows,” advised Dick, to his chums, who grouped themselves about him.  “Groans and catcalls won’t smooth or soothe any hard-feelings.”

“I don’t blame any of the fellows for what they’re doing to the snobs,” blazed Dan Dalzell indignantly.

“I don’t say that I do, either,” Dick replied quietly.  “But there may be better ways of teaching fellows that they should stand by their school at all times.”

“I’d like to know a better way, then,” flared Tom Reade.

“Let’s have it, instanter, Dick, if you’ve got one,” begged Greg Holmes.

“Yes; out with it, old chap,” begged Harry Hazelton.

But Dick Prescott smiled provokingly.

“Perhaps, with the help of some of the rest of you,” he replied, “I shall be able to find a way of cooling some hot heads.  I hope so, anyway.”

“Dick has his plan all fixed, now,” Dan whispered, hopefully, to Tom.

“If he has,” quoth Reade, under his breath, I wish he’d tell us his scheme.”

“Humph!” retorted Dan.  “You know Dick Prescott, and you know that he never shoots until he has taken time to aim.”

CHAPTER VIII

DICK FIRES BOTH BARRELS

“Oh—–­great Scott!” gasped Tom Reade, as he paused at an item in “The Blade” the following morning.

That item had been written by Prescott.  There could be no doubt about it in Reade’s mind.

“What’s the matter?” asked Tom’s father.

“Oh, Dick has been paying his respects to a certain clique in the High School, I take it,” Tom replied, with a grin.  “I heard, yesterday, that he was going to shoot into that crowd.  But—–­and here’s a short editorial on the same subject, too.  Wow!  Dick has fired into the enemy with both barrels!”