Baseball Joe at Yale Part 13

"Drill. I heard that a lot of the Freshmen were caught down the street this evening and made to walk Spanish. They're beginning the shampoo, too."

"The shampoo--what's that?"

"An ancient and honorable Yale inst.i.tution, in which the candidate is head-ma.s.saged with a bucket of paste or something else."

"Paste or what?"

"You're allowed your choice, I believe. Paste for mine, it's easier to get out of your hair if you take it in time."

"That's right. I'm with you--but--er--how about a fight?"

"It's up to you. Lots of the Freshmen stand 'em off. It's allowed if you like."

"Then I say--fight!" exclaimed Joe. "I'm not going to be shampooed in that silly fas.h.i.+on if I can help it."

"Then we'll stand 'em off?" questioned Spike.

"Sure--as long as we can," declared Joe. "Though if they bring too big a bunch against us we'll probably get the worst of it."

"Very likely, but we can have the satisfaction of punching some of the Sophs. I'm with you."

"Where'll they do it?"

"No telling. They may catch us on the street, or they may come here. For choice----"

Spike paused and held up his hand for silence. There was a noise in the hall, in the direction of the front door. Then came the voice of Ricky Hanover saying:

"No, you don't! I've got the bulge on you! No monkey business here!"

"Get away from that door, Fresh.!" shouted someone, half-angrily; "or we'll bust it in!"

"Give him the shampoo--both of 'em!" yelled another.

"You don't get in here!" cried Ricky. "I say----"

His voice was drowned out in a crash, and a moment later there was the sound of a struggle.

"Here they come," said Spike in a low voice.

"Let's take off our coats," proposed Joe, in the same tone. "If we're going to fight I want to be ready."

CHAPTER X

A WILD NIGHT

"Say, Ricky is sure putting up a great fight!"

"Yes, and he's as wiry as they make 'em!"

"He'll make 'em wish they'd let him alone--maybe."

"And maybe not," returned Spike. He and Joe had pa.s.sed these remarks after a grim silence, followed by a resumption of the cras.h.i.+ng struggle in the hall near the front door. "There are too many of 'em for him,"

went on Joe's room-mate.

"Wait until I take a peep," proposed the young pitcher. He advanced to the door, rolling up his sleeves as he went.

"Don't!" snapped Spike. "They'll be here soon enough as it is, without us showing ourselves. I'd just as soon they'd pa.s.s us up this trip--it's an unpleasant mess."

"That's right. Maybe we can stand 'em off."

"No such luck. I think they're coming."

The noise in the hall seemed redoubled. Ricky could be heard expostulating, and from that he changed to threats.

"I'll make you wish you hadn't tried this on me!" he shouted. "I'll punch----"

"Oh, dry up!" commanded someone.

"Stuff some of that paste in his mouth!" ordered another voice.

"A double shampoo for being too fres.h.!.+"

"No, you don't! I won't stand----"

"Then take it lying down. Here we go, boys!"

"I--Oh----" and Ricky's voice trailed off into an indistinct murmur.

"He's getting his," said Spike in a low tone.

"And I guess here is where we get ours," said Joe, as the rush of feet sounded along the corridor, while someone called:

"Come on, fellows. More work for us down here. There are some of the Fres.h.i.+es in their burrows. Rout 'em out! Smash 'em up!"

The tramping of feet came to a pause outside the door of our two friends.

"Open up!" came the command.

"Come in!" invited Joe. They had not turned the key as they did not want the lock broken.

Into the room burst a nondescript horde of students. They were wild and disheveled, some with torn coats and trousers, others with neckties and collars missing, or else hanging in shreds about their necks.

"Ricky put up a game fight!" murmured Joe.

"He sure did," agreed Spike.