This proposition brought forth several eager cries of approval.

“I see just one flaw in the plan,” observed Hudson slowly.

“What is it?” demanded half a dozen at once.

“Why, ‘The Evening Mail’ is a paper designed to appeal to the more rowdyish element in Gridley politics.  ‘The Mail’s’ circulation is about all among the class of people who come nearest to being ‘rowdyish.’  So I’m pretty certain, fellows, that ‘The Mail’ wouldn’t take up our cause, and hammer our enemies with the word ‘rowdy.’  ’The Blade’ is the paper that circulates among the best people in Gridley.”

“And Dick Prescott writes for ’The Blade’!”

A gloomy silence followed, broken by Bayliss’s disconsolate query: 

“Then, hang it!  What can we do?”

And that query stuck hard!

CHAPTER IX

BAYLISS GETS SOME ADVICE

On that fateful Thursday morning every High School boy, and nearly every High School girl saw “The Blade.”

The morning paper, however, contained no allusion whatever to the football remarks of the day before.

Instead, there was an article descriptive of the changes to be made out at the High School athletic field this present year, and there were points and “dope” (as the sporting parlance phrases it) concerning the records and rumored new players of other High School elevens that were anxious to meet Gridley on the gridiron this coming season.

Thursday’s article was just the kind of a one that was calculated to make every football enthusiast eager to see the season open in full swing.

Again the “soreheads” came to school, and once more they had to pass the silent groups of their fellow students, who stood with heads turned away.  The reign of Coventry seemed complete.  Never before had any of the “soreheads” understood so thoroughly the meaning of loneliness.

At recess all the talk was of football.  None of this talk, however, was heard by the “soreheads.”  Whenever any of these went near the other groups the talk ceased instantly.  There was no comfort in the yard, that morning, for a “sorehead.”

When school let out that afternoon, at one o’clock, Bayliss, Fremont, Dodge and their kind scurried off fast.  No one offered to stop them.  These “exclusive” young men could not get away from the fact that exclusion was freely accorded them.

Fred Ripley, as had been his wont in other years when he was a freshman, walked homeward with Clara Deane.

“Fred, you haven’t got yourself mixed up at all with that ‘sorehead’ crowd, have you?” Miss Deane asked.

“Not much!” replied Fred, with emphasis.  “I want to play football this year.”

“Will all the ‘soreheads’ be kept out of the eleven, even if they come to their senses?” Clara inquired.

“Now, really, you’ll have to ask me an easier one than that,” replied Fred Ripley laughingly.