The Adventures of a Freshman Part 5

Young did not speak or look up. He seemed to be moving his tongue about in his cheek.

Ballard approached him. "You won't come, eh?" he said, angrily. And with that he took him by the shoulder.

"Take your hands off me," said the Freshman, shrilly, and wrenched quickly away, backing up against the wall. He stood there breathing hard, and he glanced from one Soph.o.m.ore to the other.

Now, it is not the easiest thing in the world for a big man and a little man to drag out of a room one very good-sized man who looks as if he had made up his mind to stay in it. At any rate, to do it without considerable noise is impossible. Therefore Channing stepped across to the open window, stuck his head out, and gave a long, peculiar whistle.

He waited a moment and then repeated it Then an answer came back from the distance.

"We'll soon fix _you_, Deacon," he remarked, nodding his head, as he returned from the window.

Young was still standing backed up against the wall. Ballard, braced against the door opposite to prevent the Freshman's escape, was scowling.

"They'll be here in a minute," said Channing.

He referred to the cla.s.smates he had signalled to. You see if they had all come in together it would have aroused the landlady's suspicions. As it was, Channing had been obliged to tell her that Ballard and himself represented the college Y. M. C. A., and that they wanted to ask Mr.

Young to join it.

"When they whistle I'll tip-toe down and let them in," said Channing.

"Listen! What's that?"

Footsteps were heard coming up the stairs.

"They couldn't have gotten here so soon," said Ballard.

"I didn't hear any whistle," said Channing.

The footsteps came nearer.

"Is this the room?" said a voice just outside the door.

"Yes, that's the one," came the rea.s.suring tones of the landlady below.

The Soph.o.m.ores had stopped talking.

A knock.

No reply.

Another knock.

"Come in," said Young, defiantly.

Ballard stepped to one side.

The door opened.

"Is this Mr. Young?"

"That's my name," said Young. "Come in." He was still standing by the mantelpiece.

A dark-eyed, strong-faced, matured-looking man with rather long hair stood in the doorway. "I am Nolan," he said, "of the Junior cla.s.s, and this is Mr. Linton," turning to a man behind him.

"h.e.l.lo there, Ballard," Nolan said, casually then suddenly taking in the situation and smiling, "sorry to spoil your fun," he said. "h.e.l.lo, where's your young friend going in such a hurry?"

Channing was seen slipping out of the still open door. "I'll be right back," he said, grinning. The whistle had sounded while Nolan and Linton were entering the room, and Channing wanted to get down in time to--but it was too late. The Juniors had left the front door open when they entered, and now the other Soph.o.m.ores were on the way up the second flight of stairs. "Where's the Freshman's room, Chan?" they said, in a loud whisper.

"Wait, there's no use coming now," began Channing.

But Linton was now at the head of the stairs saying, in an amused tone: "Oh, come right up; don't mind us." So, rather than seem afraid of the Juniors they trooped in, all six of them looking as if caught at something they were ashamed of.

Linton smiled drolly at one of the Soph.o.m.ores he happened to know personally. "Hard luck, Valentine," he said.

Nolan nodded gravely to one or two of them, and they said, "How do you do?" very respectfully.

No one said anything else for a moment.

"Don't let us interrupt you," said Channing, grinning.

"We had no intention of being interrupted," said Linton, without looking up. And Freshman Young noticed that the others seemed to consider this a good joke on Channing, and Channing noticed that Young noticed it, and this was one thing more to remember against Young.

"By the way," Linton went on in a lazy, matter-of-fact way, as he began filling a pipe, "perhaps it would be just as well if you fellows all got up and got out of here now. Billy and I came here to talk hall to this Freshman, and we have a number of others to call on, and Billy mustn't stay up late these days, you know."

"Billy" meant Nolan, the one with long hair, and he was a university football man, and the training season had begun.

Linton made this remark in an ordinary tone, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to request seven or eight men to leave a room. He struck a match for his pipe as he finished speaking, and then lifted his feet up on the table and leaned back without looking at the under-cla.s.smen.

The Soph.o.m.ores said, "All right," meekly arose, murmured, "Good-night,"

and smiling rather sheepishly departed.

Young looked on with mingled feelings. They outnumbered the Juniors seven to two, and yet the arrogant Soph.o.m.ores did not even question the Junior's power. He was learning something about these traditions and customs; evidently the authority was not in bodily strength.

But the two upper-cla.s.smen, without waiting to see what became of the Soph.o.m.ores, began forthwith to tell Young how different were the two secret literary societies, whose mysterious, Greek temples looked so much alike there side by side on the campus, and to point out how superior was their own "hall," as they called it.

Nolan, who was a famous orator in this hall, did most of the talking.

Linton only put in a word now and then, but he kept glancing at the Freshman in a queer, quizzical way as he blew smoke. When they arose to go Linton said, in a pleasant tone:

"I suppose the Soph.o.m.ores are bothering you a good deal?"

Young wondered what made Linton say so. "No," he replied; "they tried to make me take off my hat yesterday, but I wouldn't do it."

He thought that would impress these upper-cla.s.smen.

Linton glanced at Nolan, who smiled.

"Say, Young," said Linton, kindly, "of course it's none of my business, but--well, I'd take off my hat if I were you."

"Why?"

"Oh, well, because you're a Freshman."