The Adventures of a Freshman Part 4

But they could not hold them, and the little fellow beside Young began screaming, "We're rus.h.i.+ng 'em! we're rus.h.i.+ng the Sophs," in the Soph.o.m.ores' very faces.

A big Soph.o.m.ore in the front rank got one arm free, reached up and struck the little fellow in the face, then got hold of his coat and began to jerk the little one down.

Young reached over, grabbed the big Soph.o.m.ore's wrist and freed his little cla.s.smate. "Hi! Deacon!" cried a disagreeable voice somewhere in the rows of Soph.o.m.ores before him. Young was devoting all his energy to the little fellow whose nose was now bleeding; this did not seem to bother the latter, for he wriggled around, nimbly clambered up on Young's big shoulders, then kneeling on them and having free play for his arms he began to strike right and left at the Soph.o.m.ores beneath him as fast as he could, and he seemed to be able to strike both fast and hard.

Seeing his pluck those behind him now plunged forward harder than ever.

"Yea-a-a--the cannon--the cannon, we've got it!" cried the little fellow.

Young felt himself brus.h.i.+ng up against something hard and solid. Sure enough it was the big iron breech of the old cannon that he had seen standing muzzle down, in the centre of the quadrangle.

The little fellow jumped down from Young's shoulders upon it, and began to lead a cheer, though he did not know how to do it very well. But he waved his hands about his head and everyone yelled exultingly. They had won.

Then Jack Stehman, the Junior coach, hustled the little one off, jumped up on the cannon himself and led a cheer in the right way. The little fellow was out of sight now, but not out of memory. He was a hero.

Meanwhile some of the other Soph.o.m.ores had zealously rushed some of the other Freshmen off the quadrangle and were shouting themselves hoa.r.s.e for _their_ victory down by Clio Hall, but the Freshmen had the cannon.

That was what they were after all this time, as Young now learned.

"It's all over now. Go home, you fellows," said the hoa.r.s.e-voiced Juniors, silencing the exuberant Freshmen.

"We rushed them, though, didn't we?" eagerly asked a Freshman with necktie gone and coat torn half off. Young saw it was his small comrade.

"'Course you did," said Jack Stehman, his voice sounding gruff and authoritative. "Go to your rooms as fast as you can; Sophs'll haze tar out of you if they catch you to-night. They expected to have an easy thing of it."

The little fellow had spied Young. "Good-night," he said, holding out his hand, "much obliged for what you did. My name's Lee."

"Young is my name." They shook hands. "Hope you aren't hurt," Young added, smiling.

"Nope; see you again. Good-night."

The Freshmen now began to scatter in all directions in the darkness, some of them limping and some of them going slowly because out of breath; and some had fewer garments than when they left their rooms. But all had a great deal more cla.s.s spirit, and that is the object of the cannon rush. There was not one among them who would have missed it for anything.

Young reached his room without adventure. He limped a little as he went upstairs, but he did not know it.

He had been in his room but a few moments when a knock came at the door.

He had had no callers before this.

"Come in," said Young, cheerfully. He thought perhaps it was Lee.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AFTER THE RUSH.

In walked ... the little Soph.o.m.ore, and behind him a very big Soph.o.m.ore.

Young recognized him as the one....]

In walked Channing, the little Soph.o.m.ore, and behind him a very big Soph.o.m.ore, dressed in a football suit. Young recognized him as the one that struck little Lee, and he seemed to recognize Young; at least he grinned and showed the place where a front tooth was gone.

And Channing wore Young's hat.

CHAPTER IV

WELCOME AND UNWELCOME VISITORS

Suppose you were a Freshman and hazing were still in vogue, and the first callers in your college course were two Soph.o.m.ores, and each of them had reasons for wanting to humiliate you, and one of the fellows was a football player with muscles larger than your own; how would you feel if they strode into your room, looking arrogant?

You, possibly, might not mind it. If so, Will Young was different from you, for he felt very queer as he arose from his chair.

Channing said, "How do you do, Mr. Young?" Then, closing the door so the landlady might not hear, "Well, Deacon," with his sarcastic smile, "we've come for you."

Young said nothing. Instinctively he offered chairs.

"This is Deacon Young of Squeedunk, the freshest man in the cla.s.s, Bally. Bow, Freshman, to Mr. Ballard, of whom you have doubtless heard--the famous centre rush of the famous Soph.o.m.ore football eleven that will do your futile Freshman team up so badly you can't see, later in the term."

"No, thanks," said the big fellow to Young, in a very big voice, "never sit on chairs." He had seated himself on Young's table, with one foot on a chair, and was looking around the room as Channing went on:

"We secured several of your charming cla.s.smates on the campus. They aren't far away from here now." Ballard chuckled at this. "But we missed you on the campus, Deacon. You must have run home after the rush."

The Soph.o.m.ores both laughed at this, but Young said nothing, and wondered how Channing had found out where he roomed.

"You have given us some trouble. That is unfortunate for you. But you were kind enough yesterday to oblige me with your name; so I went to the registrar's office and asked where my dear old friend Willie Young roomed. I told them I wanted to look you up and take care of you. We'll take care of you, all right--eh, Bally?"

Ballard laughed his loud laugh at this way of talking. He thought Channing very witty, and so did Channing.

Young was leaning against the mantelpiece.

"But we mustn't waste time here," Channing went on; "pick up your hat and come on like a good little boy; we're all going for a nice little stroll to the ca.n.a.l together."

Young had heard, since he last saw Channing, what the Soph.o.m.ores did with Freshmen at the ca.n.a.l. He did not move.

"Oh, I forgot," said Channing, "you have no hat; you lost yours in the rush this evening, didn't you? Well, well, that was too bad. You will have to go bareheaded. However, Freshman," he added, patronizingly stern, "this will teach you a good lesson--two good lessons. In the first place, little Willie must wear a cap and not a big felt hat like this." He took Young's hat off his own head and looked at it critically. "I suppose this is the latest thing out at Squeedunkville."

Ballard grinned. Young flushed and bit his lip.

"In the second place, you must always take it off when you meet your superiors and thus save us the trouble of taking it off for you; and,"

he added, looking out of the window in the direction of the ca.n.a.l, "and so save yourself some trouble also."

Ballard was now beginning to look interested. "I guess the Freshman's got another hat in his closet," he said, gruffly. Then he commanded, "Go get it, Freshman, and come on." Ballard was standing now.

Young did have a hat--a derby hat, the one he wore on the train and when he first arrived--in his closet, but he did not go and get it, and he did not come on.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" growled Ballard. "Come on." He let Channing do the guying, but he liked to take a hand in the bossing himself.

Apparently Young heard nothing; he had not said a word, and he was quietly looking down at the carpet, but his heart was beating fast.

"Now, see here, Deacon," said Channing, "we don't want to have any trouble with you. Are you going to come along peacefully and have an easy time of it, or are you going to make a little trouble for us and a lot for yourself?"