as you are, and so are a lot of the fellows. The trouble is that the athletic committee is too big. There are a lot of lads on it who don't care a rap for baseball or football, who don't even play tennis, yet they have a vote, and it's their votes that keep Hiram as manager, and Luke as captain."
"Can't it be changed?" Tom wanted to know. Joe was maintaining a discrete silence, for he did not want to urge his own qualifications as a pitcher. Tom was eager to fight for his chum.
"Well, it's been tried," spoke Peaches, "but Hiram has his own set with him—a set that isn't the sporting element of Excelsior by a good lot, and their votes keep him in. He spends his money freely and toadies to them, and they fairly black his shoes. Luke Fodick, too, helps out. He has his crowd and they're all with him. I tell you it's rotten, but what are you going to do?"
"I know what I'm going to do if I stay here!" declared Tom.
"What?" demanded Peaches and Teeter eagerly.
"I'm not going to tell until I'm ready to spring it," said Tom, " and when I do I think you'll see some fur fly. How soon before the school team is picked?"
