As the referee spoke the word, Hill felt the sophomore drop. He knew
what was coming. Over his opponent's head he went sprawling on the
grass, as he expected. But just then, in some manner, quick as a
flash, Parker doubled and threw both legs in between Hill's body and
the cane, and began, with all his strength, to strain, and push, and
wrench.
Hill had expected something, and thought he was guarding against it.
But this was a new trick--a variation on the old one--which the
sophomore had invented himself.
Now, if it had been an ordinary man, with ordinary Christian
shoulders, the strain would have been too great, and the sophomore
would have won the cane in ten seconds, as he counted on doing.
But you see Hill was somewhat deformed as to his shoulders. He grunted
and clung on, and the sophomore's coachers were yelling fiendishly:
"You've got him, Park! you've got him!"
The next instant, while the sophomore was trying to better his
advantage, Hill quietly turned, slipped out of the perilous position,
and drew himself up close to the sophomore's body. He lay there
panting, while his coachers cried, joyfully: "Good one, Hill! good
one!" and his classmates left off feeling sick at their stomachs, and
began to cheer him by name. This he did not hear.
He had been taken by surprise at the fall, but now he was entirely
alive to what he was about. Every nerve was at tension, each muscle
set at hair-trigger. There was just one thing in all the world to him
now, and that was the cane. And when, a moment later, Parker began a
quick series of furious jerks, back and forth and sidewise, Hill said,
half aloud: "No, you don't, old man," and smiled confidently to
himself as he felt how firm the cane was in his hand.
The sophomore, on top, now tried working Hill's hands off with his
fingers. But the freshman had lived on a farm all his life. Then he
tried something with his legs. But Hill's big supports were as hard as
the columns of Whig Hall, though not as symmetrical. Then, waiting
awhile, he tried to surprise Hill with more quick, sharp wrenches. It
was unsuccessful. He waited, and tried it again. Then time was called.
The two class-cheers burst forth simultaneously.
The contestants were dragged to their respective corners, wrapped with
blankets, and sponged with water.
During the interval, a buzz of voices began suddenly, as in a racing
grand-stand after the winner has been announced. The college had
expected an easy thing for Parker, the champion, and when they heard
of Bushforth's absence, they were sure of it. Everyone was saying:
"Who is this Hill? Hasn't he shoulders! Wasn't that a narrow hole he
crawled out of?"
The coachers were whispering, "You're doing well, Hill. Stick to him,
and you'll get him yet. You'll tire him out."
Two or three freshmen came into the ring and shook Hill's hand,
saying, nervously, "Good boy, Hill, good one." He was already a
distinguished man, having held the cane for a round against Parker.
But Hill only grinned and had his own opinion. The honor of the class
depended upon him. He thought he was going to win the cane.
When the referee called them up, one of the sophomore's coaches called
out, in an easy tone, "Remember, now," and Parker replied, in a cool
way, "Very well." The silence was worse than ever. People felt that
this would be the last round.
The two spreers were the coolest on the campus. But they also felt
that this would settle it, and as they grasped the cane each looked
the other over and then gazed straight into his enemy's eye. Very
much, no doubt, as knights of old used to size each other up before
they fell to cutting each other to bits, of a quiet afternoon by the
sea-side.
Hill did not like Parker, nor would he have fancied him even if the
sophomore had not been a brutal and unreasonable hazer. However, he
appreciated his athletic abilities, and even in the tense moment of
waiting for the referee's word, he could not help admiring the way his
opponent's neck fitted his body, and the clean cut of his limbs, which
Hill himself so lacked.
The sophomore looked him back in the eyes, and said, sneeringly, "You
damned freshman!" which was entirely uncalled for.
When the word was given both kept their feet for a few minutes. They
held their arms down stiff, keeping the cane close to their bodies in
order to prevent the other from jumping in between. Neither seemed
inclined to begin the attack, and they danced cautiously about the
circle with their faces close together. There was something impressive
in the sight of these two, pounding about in the moonlight. They were
so ponderous, and it all seemed to mean so much. Parker tried the
right hip throw.
He was partially successful. They were both on the ground now, and the
timer snapped his stop watch. Time is not counted when the men are
erect.
The sophomore was on top again. Again he tried his jerking
manoeuvres, and again Hill smiled to himself and thought, "I guess
not."
He lay perfectly still on the wet grass, as if comfortable and quite
content to remain there. He heard a voice from the crowd say, "Spread
out, you coachers. Give us a show." He could feel the sophomore's
breath on his neck and the beating of the heart against his back. He
felt the cool wet grass on his cheek flattened against it, and he
became aware that his nose was bleeding, and then said to himself,
"Oh, yes; I must have bumped that on Parker's elbow when we came
down."
Now, up to this point, the freshman had been on the defensive
entirely, and he had been so successful that one of the coachers began
giving the signals to begin a little offensive work. "No, no, Hammie,"
cried Drake. "Let good enough alone."
Hill had regained his wind by this time. "Please don't bother me," he
said, in a muffled tone. "I'm doing this thing. I'll get this cane in
a minute." This was loud enough for some of those in the crowd to
hear. Somehow it sounded horrible.
And it seemed to enrage Parker. He began a furious onslaught, as if he
were tired of playing with a freshman so long and meant to end the
thing right there.
He wrenched and jerked this way, he tugged and pulled that way, he
turned over and then back, he tried all the manoeuvres he knew, and
took desperate chances, which the freshman was too slow to take
advantage of. Twice the sophomore seemed to have the cane, and the
freshman still held on. It was a battle of giants, and those that were
there will never forget it.
And while they struggled, now one on top and now the other, they
rolled over to the extreme lower part of the circle toward the path
leading to the railway station. That part of the audience fell back.
The ring broke. Some closed in around them.
Then, while the referee was shouting, "Get back! Get back!" the
freshman was suddenly seen to rise on his knees yelling shrilly, like
a wild beast in pain. "You would bite me, would you, you----." He
sprang to his feet. The blood from his nose was smeared all over his
face. A furious wrench jerked Parker from the ground. With what was
extraordinary power Hill whirled him; part of the way the feet
dragged, though some like to tell that the whole of Parker was clean
in the air all the way round; he whirled him about, as you would whirl
a pillow with both arms; then, suddenly reversing all his big weight
and simultaneously twisting the hickory, he snapped the sophomore off
in the air and lifted the cane high and dry above his head. "The
freshman has it," shrieked a shrill voice.
He felt himself grabbed, he heard many noises, he went up, up in the
air, and then he forgot.
* * * * *
The big leather chair was the first thing he saw, and he knew he was
in the Witherspoon room again. Then he heard many voices talking at
once. He remembered now that he had been hearing them for ages. They
echoed inside his head some place.
"Are you all right now?"
He raised his lids a little higher and there was Drake bending over
him as tenderly as a mother.
"I think you ought to know, you great big awkward old farmer, that you
saved the day for us." Drake looked as delighted as if he had done it
himself.
"I've seen a good many sprees," said another voice near his head,
which Hill had never heard before, "but that was the finest thing I
ever saw; and I'm blame glad you did him, though I _am_ a senior and
lost twenty-five bats on it." Hill moved his head and saw the
important-looking senior with glasses.
The farmer now laughed his hideous laugh. That showed he was all
right.
One of the sophomore coachers approached the bed, and after looking up
and down Hill's bulk a moment, said: "The trouble with you, you big
freshman, is that you don't know when you're beaten. My man had that
cane twice, but you wouldn't let go."
"Well, that's Princeton spirit, isn't it?" remarked the 'Varsity
Captain, who had something to say to Hill later on.
Ramsay, the light weight, came running up the entry three steps at a
time. He had been leading cheers for Hill out-doors and now he began
hugging him. "Oh, farmer, you're a dandy. Give me your hand."
But when the farmer raised his hand he found the cane was still in it.
"Here, little one, you can have this. I've had my fun out of it." This
showed how green he was.
"No," said Ramsay; "you're to keep that forever. What did you win it
for, anyway?"
As a matter of fact winning the spree meant much more to the big
placid farmer than a hickory cane to hang with ribbons over his
mantelpiece, and more than a bit of fame in another kind of athletics,
too. Much more. As we all know now.