Tom and his chums took their positions. The protectors formed about them.

"Hold fast, everybody!" cautioned Phil as he grasped Tom's arm.

"Here they come! here they come!" was the warning cry, and with a rush the soph.o.m.ores hurled themselves against the ma.s.s of lads about the pole.

CHAPTER VII

TOM HOLDS HIS OWN

It seemed for a moment as if the first-year boys would be quickly shoved aside and their places taken by the soph.o.m.ores, for so heavy was the impact that the outer and second lines of defense were broken through and the attackers were in the midst of the defenders.

"Throw 'em back! throw 'em back!" yelled Phil Clinton. "Tackle low!"

"Think you're playing football?" panted Tom, for some of his mates had been pushed against him and he almost lost his grip on Phil's arm.

"It's like a scrimmage," replied Phil. "That's the stuff, boys!" he added as the lines of defense formed again.

The freshmen by a fierce effort succeeded in blocking the advance of their enemies, and those who had penetrated part way into the circles were hurled back. But the battle had only just begun.

Once more came the rush of soph.o.m.ores, the members of the cla.s.s calling to each other encouragingly. There were more of them than there were of freshmen, but the latter had the advantage of a firm base of support, for the lads nearest the pole clung to that and those adjoining them locked their arms or legs about those of their comrades, thus forming a compact ma.s.s.

"Pick 'em off one by one!" yelled Gladdus, one of the leading soph.o.m.ores.

"Bore a way in there, Fenmore, and some of you fellows. We ought to get them away."

"Hold fast! Hold fast, everybody!" cried Tom, for the joy of battle was upon him and his heart exulted in the struggle that was going on about him, in the pressure of bodies against his, the labored breathing, the panting, the fierce grips that were broken only to be made anew.

The soph.o.m.ores now began other tactics. Several of them would grab a freshman in the outer circle. They would pluck him from the restraining grasp of his companions, and then, when a hole was thus made, other soph.o.m.ores would bore their way in to repeat the process. So quickly was this done and so strong was the peculiar attack that, almost before the freshmen knew it, Gladdus and Fenmore, two of the most aggressive attackers, had reached the circle that was about the pole. The two boldly grabbed at Tom, at the same time calling out:

"Sophs this way! Sophs this way! Here's meat for us!"

Tom suddenly felt himself being pulled away from the pole. The grips of Phil Clinton on one side and Sid Henderson on the other were slipping from his arms.

"Hold fast! Don't let them take you!" cried Phil.

"I won't!" gasped Tom.

He thought of a trick he had acquired in wrestling. Quickly arching his back like a bow, he suddenly straightened it with a snap, and the holds of Gladdus and Fenmore were broken. They were hurled back and then other freshmen took them up bodily, thrusting them beyond the outer line of defense.

Then the whole body of soph.o.m.ores quickly threw themselves against the freshmen, as if to force them away from the pole by weight of numbers.

They nearly succeeded, and Tom and his fellow defenders of the flag staff thought their arms would be pulled out of the sockets. But, as if it was a second down in a fierce football game, the freshmen held their opponents and thrust the wave of soph.o.m.ores back.

So it went on, the attack becoming fiercer until, when the timekeepers announced that there were but two more minutes left in which to hold or gain the pole, the second-year men seemed fairly to overwhelm the others.

"Tear 'em up! tear 'em up!" pleaded Gladdus.

"Hold, boys, hold!" begged Langridge. And hold they did, for when time was called the defenders were found with their arms still locked about the flag staff.

"We win, fellows!" yelled Tom, capering about, with his hands grasping those of Sid and Phil.

Then followed an impromptu war dance, while the vanquished soph.o.m.ores filed away in the darkness, the exultant freshmen sending cheer after cheer out on the air.

"Here's where we wear ribbons on our hats!" cried Ford Fenton. "Now, I'd like to see any soph make me take it off."

He pulled from his pocket a band and fixed it to a new hat he had bought to replace the slashed one.

"You came prepared, didn't you?" asked Holly Cross. "Here, let me give you an imitation of a soph," and he held out the decorated hat, though the gaily decorated band could not be seen in the darkness, and pretending to regard it with horror, minced along like some grotesque dancer on the stage.

"Good! good!" cried his fellows.

"That's the stuff, Holly, old chap!" remarked Phil. "We'll have you in the next play."

"Why don't you fellows run the colors up on the flag pole?" proposed a lad who had stood watching the fun.

"That's it, Jerry Jackson!" exclaimed Sid. "Good idea."

"I'm not Jerry, I'm Joe," replied the Jersey twin.

"I'll have to take your word for it," went on Sid. "Say, you two ought to wear labels. We're always getting you mixed up."

Amid much laughter and joking a long streamer of yellow and maroon was fastened to the halyards and run up to the truck. Langridge had the colors with him, antic.i.p.ating a victory.

"We ought to have a parade now," suggested Fenton. "My uncle says----"

"If you say uncle again inside of a week, we'll duck you!" cried Sid as he jostled Ford to one side. "We know him by heart by this time."

"I don't believe he ever had an uncle," declared Kerr. "But come on, fellows, let's have a parade."

The idea took at once, and the victorious freshmen formed in line and marched about the college buildings, singing songs and yelling joyfully, for it had been a good, fair, clean fight, and they had won.

"Let's go to Haddonfield and get out hat bands," proposed Langridge.

"We'll all be wearing them in the morning."

As discipline was rather relaxed during the first two weeks of the term and as it was the custom for the victorious cla.s.s to celebrate in some way the idea was adopted and the joyous lads made for the town, which at their advent at once awakened from a sort of evening nap. They went to a dealer who made a specialty of college goods and soon all were decked out in the gay hat bands, all save a few who, like Fenton, had already provided themselves with the articles.

"I suppose you aren't used to such things as this down on the farm, are you?" asked Langridge of Tom sneeringly as they were about ready to depart for the college. "Corn husking bees and quilting parties are more in your line."

"Wa'al, thet's what they be!" retorted Tom quickly, imitating the nasal drawl of the typical farmer. "We folks down Northville way is some pumpkins when it comes t' huskin' corn. Was you ever there, sonny?"

His manner was so patronizing and the effect of his words and a.s.sumed mannerisms so odd that the lads about him burst out laughing, much to the annoyance of Langridge.

"Going to the post-office for the mail and meeting the pretty country girls was about the height of your enjoyment, wasn't it?" persisted the rich youth, who seemed bound to pick a quarrel with Tom.

"Wa'al, now you're talkin'," came the quick answer in the same drawl.

There was something rather strange about Langridge. His eyes seemed very bright and his cheeks were flushed. He evidently took Tom's acquiescence as an indication that the country lad was willing to have fun poked at him.