A GOOD THROW
There was excitement in the ranks of the freshmen. They formed in a ring
about Langridge, who once more prepared to throw the weight over the
cross.
"Hold 'em back, boys!" he pleaded. "We can do it. It won't take five
minutes to get the clapper after the rope's up."
"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 mass of shadows moving toward
the chapel. They were the sophomores, 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 sophomores, 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 sophomores. "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 sophomores 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 mass 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 assure 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.
"Get that line over, for cats' sake!" demanded Clinton.
"I will!" exclaimed Langridge.
"Shall I throw it?" asked Tom. "I guess----"
"I'll do my own throwing," replied the other coldly.
"If he knows how to throw, let him try," suggested Clinton. "We want to
get that clapper some time to-night."
"Go ahead, Fred," urged Kerr. "I guess your arm ain't in shape yet."
Langridge murmured something, but as there arose a general demand that
he let some one else try, and as a new body of sophomores were rushing
down to the attack, he handed over the lead weight.
"Can you pitch?" he asked of Tom.
"A little," was the quiet reply.
The two faced each other in the darkness, as if trying to see of what
stuff each was made. It was the first time Tom Parsons and Fred Langridge
met, and it was rather prophetic that this first meeting should presage
others which were to follow, and in which the rivalry thus early
established was to be fought out to the bitter end.
"Hurry!" urged Kerr. "We're going to have our hands full now. They're
going to rush us."
Tom Parsons grasped the lead weight, and shook the cord to free it of
kinks. He stepped back a few feet, looked up in the darkness to where
the cross was dimly visible, and then, drawing back his arm, sent the
lead with great force and straight aim up into the air.
"A good throw!" cried Sid Henderson, as the moon, just then coming out
from behind a bank of clouds, showed that the cord had fallen squarely
over one arm of the cross, the weight coming down to the ground on the
other side of the chapel.
"A good throw!" echoed Clinton.
"Humph!" growled Langridge. "I could have done as well on the next try."
"Haul up the rope!" ordered Kerr. "Lively, now!"
Several lads ran around to where the end of the cord, still attached to
the weight, was on the ground. All around a struggle was going on, the
freshmen endeavoring to hold back the attacking sophomores. Now and then
a second-year lad would break through the protecting fringe, only to be
hurled or pushed back again by the defenders.
Quick hands hauled on the cord, and the heavier rope rose in the air
and slipped over the cross. It was held down on one side by several
turns taken around a post. Then it was made taut at the opposite end.
"Shin up now, Snail!" cried Langridge, who had again assumed command of
things. "Quick! We'll hold the rope! Get the clapper!"
The night-loving youth moved slowly forward. But, in spite of his lack
of speed, he managed to make good time up the rope, which he skilfully
ascended hand over hand.
"Don't let 'em get the clapper!" "Break through and yank down the rope!"
were the cries of the sophomores.
Again and again they hurled themselves against the circle of freshmen,
who protected the two groups of their comrades holding either end of the
rope.
"Hold 'em, boys! Hold 'em!" pleaded Langridge.
Tom Parsons threw himself into the thick of the fight. He gave blows,
and he took them, all in good nature. Once, when a small sophomore broke
through, Tom picked him up bodily and deposited him outside the circle
of defenders.
"Say, he's got muscle, all right," observed Clinton to Kerr.
"That's what. There's class there, all right. Shouldn't wonder but what
he'd give Langridge a rub for pitcher, if he plays baseball."
"Oh, he'll play, all right. A fellow who can throw as he did can't help
playing."
"Who's that?" asked Sid in a breathing spell, following a temporary
repulse of the enemy.
"The new lad--Tom Parsons."
"Oh, yes, he plays ball," said Sid. "His father knows my father. They
used to be chums in Northville, a country town. That's how Tom happened
to come here, and he asked if he couldn't room with me. He plays ball,
all right."
"Pitch?" asked Clinton laconically.
"I think so. Look out, here they come again!"
The conversation was interrupted to repel another rush.
"Look out below!" suddenly called the Snail from his perch near the
cupola.
"Got the clapper?" yelled Langridge.
"Yep! Here it is!"
Something fell with a thud in the midst of a group of freshmen. It was
the bell clapper, which the Snail had unhooked. Tom Parsons made a dive
for it.
"I'll take that!" exclaimed Langridge roughly, as he shoved the newcomer
to one side and grabbed up the mass of iron.
"I was only going to help," replied Tom good-naturedly.
"Cut with it!" ordered Kerr. "We can't hold 'em much longer, and we
don't want 'em to get it now. Skip, Langridge. Take some interference
with you."
As if it was a football game, several lads made a sort of flying wedge
in front of Langridge, with him inside the apex, and, thus protected, he
bored through the mass of sophomores.
"After him!" yelled several second-years, who had become aware of the
trick. "He's got the clapper!"
Most of the lads rushed away from the chapel, only those remaining who
were holding the rope taut. Some of these even started away.
"Hold on!" yelled the Snail. "I'm up here yet! I want to get down!"
"Don't leave Sam up there!" cried Kerr. "Hold the rope, fellows, until
he shins down."
Several freshmen ran back.
"I'll help hold," volunteered Tom, though there was a temptation to join
the fighting throng that surrounded Langridge and his defenders.
The Snail slid to the ground, the rope was pulled from the cross, and
the lads, coiling it up as they ran, hastened to the aid of their
freshmen comrades.