o be ashamed of yourself. Using a whip! Why don't
you take some one your size, and use your hands if you have to. You're a
coward!"

"That's right!" chimed in Chet Anderson.

"It's a blooming shame--that's what it is!" protested Tom Hatfield.
"Let's make a rough-house of him, fellows!"

"What's that?" cried the farmer. "You threaten me, do you? Get out of my
barnyard before I treat you as I did him! Get out, do you hear!"

"No!" exclaimed Andy. "We don't go until you promise to leave him
alone," and he nodded at the shrinking youth.

"Say, I'll show you!" blustered the big farmer. "I'll thrash you young
upstarts----"

"Oh no, you won't!" exclaimed Tom, easily. And when big Tom Hatfield,
left guard on the Milton eleven, spoke in this tone trouble might always
be looked for. "Oh, no you won't, my friend! And, just to show you that
you won't--there goes your whip!"

With a quick motion Tom pulled the lash from the man's hand, and sent it
whirling over the fence into the road.

"You--you!" blustered the farmer. He was too angry to be able to speak
coherently. His hands were clenched and his little pig-like eyes roved
from one to the other of the lads as though he were trying to decide
upon which one to rush first.

"Take it easy, now," advised Tom, his voice still low. "We're five to
one, and we'll certainly tackle you, and tackle you hard, if you don't
be nice. We're not afraid of you!"

Perhaps the angry man realized this. Certainly he must have known that
he would stand little chance in attacking five healthy, hearty
youngsters, each of whom had the glow of clean-living on his cheeks,
while their poise showed that they were used to active work, and ready
for any emergency.

"Get out of this yard!" roared the farmer. "What right have you got
interfering between me and my hired man, anyhow? What right, I'd like to
know?"

"The right of every lover of fair-play!" exclaimed Andy. "Do you think
we'd stand quietly by and let you use a horse-whip on a young fellow
that you ought to be able to handle with one hand? And he with his arm
in a sling! To my way of thinking, you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

The farmer growled out something unintelligible.

"We ought to do you up good and brown!" exclaimed Tom, his fists
clenched.

"He's only playing off on me--he ain't hurt a mite!" growled the farmer.
"He's only fakin' on me."

"I certainly am not," spoke the young fellow in firm but respectful
terms. "I s