"Say, he's got muscle, all right," observed Clinton to Kerr.

"That's what. There's cla.s.s 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 ma.s.s 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 ma.s.s of soph.o.m.ores.

"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.

CHAPTER III

A BASEBALL MEETING

"Swat 'em, freshmen! Swat 'em!" was the rallying cry of the first-year lads.

"Get the clapper! Get the clapper! Don't let them get away with it!"

implored the soph.o.m.ores.

There was a confused ma.s.s of arms, legs and bodies. The ma.s.s swayed, now this way, now that. Tom Parsons, the Snail, Ed Kerr and some others who had remained behind to manage the rope, threw themselves into the fray.

Their help turned the tide of battle, and the soph.o.m.ores, who were outnumbered, turned and fled, leaving the freshmen victors of the fight.

"Have you got the clapper, Langridge?" called Kerr anxiously.

"Of course," and the lad addressed produced the unwieldy souvenir from underneath his coat.

"Then get it to our room and hide it," went on Kerr. "They'll not give up yet. We've got to expect a hunt for it to-night."

Kerr and Langridge, who roomed together, started away, the clapper of the bell safe in their possession, while the others brought up the rear, a guard against a possible unexpected attack. But none was made, and presently the long, iron tongue was safely hidden in the rooms of the freshmen.

"I say," remarked Tom Parsons to Sidney Henderson, when the excitement had somewhat calmed down, "I wonder if I'd better report to the proctor, or to Dr. Churchill to-night. I've just entered, you know."

"What's the use?" asked his companion. "You're to room with me--that's settled. Mr. Zane, the proctor, won't want to be disturbed. Besides, I rather think that Dr. Churchill, our venerable and respected head--by the way, we call him Moses, you know--I say I don't believe he'd thank you for coming."

"Why not?"

"Well, you see, there's been more or less of doings to-night. Of course, the faculty are not supposed to know that we take the bell clapper, but you can bet they do know. They pretend not to, and take no notice of it.

If you were to go and ring Moses up at this hour, he'd have to become aware--take cognizance, he'd call it--of our little racket. That might make trouble. No, on the whole, let the proctor and Moses alone."

"Why Moses?"

"What's that?"

"I say--why Moses?"

"Oh, I see. Well, we call him that from his name. Church and hill. Moses went up on a hill to preach about the church, hence--aha! see?"

"You needn't draw a map," answered Tom, "even if I am from the country."

"That's so, you're from Northville, where dad used to live."

"That's right."

"Well, I wouldn't boast of it, if I were you--especially when any of the fellows are around."

"Why not?"

"Well, of course it's all right with me--I understand, but they might make fun of you--rig you, you understand."