Part 3 (1/2)

”But first you've got to get it up,” replied Clinton.

”And I will. Cut out your knocking. Here goes!”

Off to the right could be seen a confused ma.s.s of shadows moving toward the chapel. They were the soph.o.m.ores, who in some mysterious manner had heard of the attempt to take the clapper, and who now determined to prevent it.

”They're coming,” said Kerr ominously.

”I know it,” answered Langridge desperately. ”Keep still about it, can't you?” he asked fretfully. ”You make me nervous, and I can't throw well.”

”Humph! He must be a fine pitcher if he gets nervous,” declared Clinton.

Langridge glanced at the circle of freshmen about him. There were enough of them to stand off the rush of the soph.o.m.ores, who, as they came nearer, were observed to be rather few in number.

”Here it goes!” exclaimed the rich youth, and he threw the lead weight with all his force. It struck the cross, but did not carry the cord over the arm.

”At 'em, fellows! At 'em!” yelled the leading soph.o.m.ores. ”Tear 'em apart! Don't let 'em get the clapper!”

There was a struggle on the outer fringe of freshmen, who crumpled up under the attack of the second-year lads.

”Hold 'em back!” yelled Langridge. There was no longer any need of caution.

The soph.o.m.ores were hurled back by the weight of superior numbers.

Seeing this their leader hastily sent for reinforcements. Meanwhile the others renewed their attack on the freshmen. Langridge prepared to make another cast.

”He'll never do that in a week!” exclaimed Clinton in disgust. ”Why doesn't some one who can throw try it?”

”I'll throw, all right!” cried Langridge, as he untangled the cord, which was in a ma.s.s at his feet. He was about to make another attempt, when a lad stepped to his side--a lad who was a stranger to the others.

Where he had come from they did not know.

”Let me try,” he said pleasantly. ”I used to be pretty fair at throwing stones. Your arm is tired, I guess.”

”Who are you?” demanded Langridge suspiciously. ”Are you a soph? How'd you get here?”

”I'm not a soph,” replied the other good-naturedly, in a pause that followed a second hurling back of the attackers, who withdrew to wait for reinforcements. ”I'm a freshman. My name is Parsons--Tom Parsons.

I'm a little late getting here this term. In fact, I just arrived to-night. I was on my way from the depot to the college, when, as I crossed the campus, I heard what was up. As I'm a freshman, I decided to join in. Hope it's all right.”

”I don't know you,” said Langridge hesitatingly, fearing this was a trick of the enemy. ”You may be a soph----”

”No, I a.s.sure you I'm not,” said Tom Parsons. ”Wait a minute. Is there any one here named Sidney Henderson?”

”That's my name,” replied Sid.

”Then you ought to know me. I'm to room with you, I believe. At least, I have a letter from Dr. Albertus Churchill to that effect. He's quartered me on you.”

”Oh, that's all right!” cried Henderson. ”Parsons is a freshman, all right. I didn't remember about it. Sure, he's all right. It's a queer time to arrive, though.”

”Isn't it?” agreed Tom good-naturedly. ”Couldn't help it, though. Train was late.”

”Here come some more sophs!” called Kerr.