chum. "I know you can do it if you'll only try."
"Nat Poole will win that race!" came roughly from Gus Plum, who stood near.
"Hi, catch the ball, Gus!" sang out Nat Poole, from across the field, and threw a ball in Ben's direction. Plum leaped for the sphere, bumped up against Ben, and both went down, with the bully on top.
"Plum, you did that on purpose!" cried Roger, who was close by. "Shame on you!"
"Shut up! I didn't do it on purpose!" howled the bully, arising. "Say that again and I'll knock you down!"
"You certainly did do it on purpose," said Phil, stepping up quickly. "You ought to be reported for it."
"Aw, dry up!" muttered Plum, and walked away.
When Ben arose he could scarcely get his breath. He was not hurt, but the wind had been knocked completely out of him.
"I—I don't know if I can ru-run or not!" he gasped. "He came—came down on me like a ton of bricks!"
"Wait, I'll speak to Mr. Dale about this," said Dave, and ran off. As a result of the interview the contest was delayed ten minutes—another taking its place—much to the disgust of Gus Plum and
