"Well, what is it?" snapped Hiram. "I'm talking, and I don't want anyone to butt in."
"I rise to a point of order," went on Tom, in a loud voice. "The nominations have not been closed, and I want to put in nomination the name of a friend, who is one of the best pitchers that ever—"
"None of that!" cried Hiram. "Get down to business. I'll allow your point of order. Who do you name?"
"Joe Matson!" cried Tom, "and—"
"You can't elect him, what's the use of trying?" sneered Luke.
"Maybe I can't, with your crowd, but I came here to-night with some friends of mine, new members of the athletic committee, and they'll vote for Joe, and I think we can outvote you!" cried Tom defiantly.
"That's right!" yelled the lads toward whom he waved his hand. "Joe Matson for pitcher."
Luke turned pale. So did Hiram as they looked at each other. This was something they had not counted on—an effective trick.
"For myself and for these new members I demand a vote on the name of Joe Matson!" went on Tom, ignoring Joe's efforts to stop him.
"That's right—we're for Joe!" yelled the
