"I have something to suggest in that line.

If we can't go into what is really a gentleman's eleven under the High School colors, I propose that we organize an eleven of our own, and call ourselves simply the Gridley Football Club.

We can bring out an eleven that would put things all over any school team that the muckers could organize without our help." "We wouldn't play the muckers, would we ?" demanded Trenholm.
"Certainly not!" retorted Bayliss, with contemptuous emphasis.
"We won't even know that a mucker High School team is on earth," laughed Porter.
"I think we understand the plan well enough, now, don't we ?" inquired Blaisdell, rising.
"We do," nodded Porter.

"And we'll all do our full share toward bringing control of High School affairs back to the aristocratic leadership that it once had." "Hoist our banners, and let them proclaim: 'Down with the muckers!'" laughed Hudson, rolling up the hem of his sweater.
"We want a good, not too fast but steady jog back to town," announced Bayliss.
At the first sign that the "soreheads" were preparing to leave the spot Dick had taken advantage of their noise to slip away.
Dave had followed him successfully.
Then, from another hiding place these two prowling juniors, grinning, watched the "soreheads" move away at a loping run.
"We certainly know all we need to about that crowd," muttered Dick, a half-vengeful look in his eyes.

"The snobs!" "Oh, they're cads, all right," assented Dave.