The freshmen began to move, singing as loudly as the others, but showing they were not familiar with the dancing-step. However, they made a brave showing, and they were happy, for every man had been tipped off that this night they would “Lambda Chi” the sophomores, who were entirely unprepared for what was to happen.
But what was to happen? No one seemed to know, unless, perhaps, it might be Starbright and Morgan and this queer man Boltwood, who had suddenly developed into a leader, not a little to the wonderment of the men he was leading.
For Boltwood, hidden in the middle of the mass, was in command of the rear half of the freshmen, and every man back there knew it. Some of them objected, but others silenced them by saying that Starbright and Morgan knew what they were about, “so shut up your heads and keep on singing.” An order it would have been rather difficult to obey.
Having carried the roaring line the length of the campus, Browning piloted it back to the fence, from which it started out again.
In front of Alumni the seniors halted, the first line of dancing juniors bumping into them before stopping.
“Ready!” roared Browning, who had found a baseball-bat somewhere, which he now flourished in the air as if it had been a mere feather. Having taken command, he was a leader in every sense of the word, full of action, energy, and power, utterly unconscious of himself. “Three times three for Alumni!”
Then came the barking cheer that echoed back from the walls of the quadrangle, Browning timing it with the jerky motions of his bat:
“’Rah! ’rah! ’rah! ’rah! ’rah! ’rah! ’rah! ’rah! ’rah! Alumni!”
“Forward!” roared Bruce, with a sweeping wave of the bat.
All the seniors were off again with the same step, singing the same song.
Mason gave the word for the juniors, and they cheered Alumni in the same manner as had the seniors.
The sophomores came up and followed suit, and the happy freshmen barked like a pack of young hyenas.
Well, say, freshmen! this is sport, isn’t it? This is something you’ll not soon forget. Here is where you have a chance to vent your kittenish feelings to the full extent. Whoop her up, freshmen, but look out for the finish. The sophs are laying for you, and Jack Ready regards himself as remarkably clever in the way of fooling freshmen. If you get ahead of him to-night, you may congratulate yourselves.