Without a word the country lad drew out a wallet, none too well filled, to judge by the looks of it.

"What's the tax?" he asked, still smiling.

"The--er--the finance committee attends to that," was the answer Langridge made. "They'll meet to-night."

Evidently he had not expected so ready a compliance on Tom's part.

"Well, if it's all settled, I move we adjourn," suggested Ed Kerr.

"Let's have a scrub game, for luck."

At that moment a lad came hurrying into the gymnasium.

"Where's Langridge?" he asked excitedly.

"Here," replied the baseball manager. "What's up?"

"Hazing!" was the somewhat breathless answer. "The sophs are going to try it on to-night, to get square about the bell clapper. I just heard it."

"That's the stuff!" cried Phil Clinton. "Now we'll get a chance to have some fun."

"And I'll pay 'em back for slashing my hat," added Ford Fenton. "My uncle says----"

But what his respected relative had remarked was not learned, as the boys rushed from the room to prepare for the ordeal that they knew awaited them.

CHAPTER IV

THE HAZING

"What sort of hazing do they do?" asked Tom Parsons of Sid Henderson as the two youths followed their companions from the gymnasium.

"Oh, all sorts. It's hard to tell. Mostly they come in your room and make a rough house, but not too rough, for the proctor doesn't stand for it.

They'll tumble you about, tear down any ornaments you may have up, pour a pitcher of water in the bed, and make things unpleasant generally."

"Are we supposed to stand for that?" There was a grim look settling on Tom's face.

"Well, what can you do when three or four big sophs are holding you?"

"Not much, that's a fact. But I'm going to fight back."

"So am I, but that's all the good it'll do. If they don't put enough on you in your room they'll tackle you outside, when you're alone, and maybe chuck you into the river or lake, or make you walk Spanish, or force you to parade through town doing the wheelbarrow act. Oh, you've got to take some hazing in one form or another."

"Well, I don't mind getting my share. So they're coming to-night, eh?"

"So the twin said."

"The twin--who's he?"

"The little fellow that brought word. I don't know whether he was Jerry or Joe Jackson. I didn't look closely enough to see."

"Why, is it hard to tell?"

"Sure. They're two brothers, Jerry and Joe. They come from some town in New Jersey. We call them the 'Jersey Twins,' and they look so much alike it's hard to tell them apart. The only way you can tell is when they're playing ball."

"How then?"

"Why, Jerry plays right field, and Joe left. Then it's easy to say which is which; but when they come to bat it always happens that some one on the other team makes a kick. They think we're ringing in the same man twice, and we have to explain. That's what I've heard. Of course, I've only been here a week."

"Oh, then they've played here some time?"

"Yes; they're juniors. It was mighty white of Jerry or Joe, whichever it was, to tip us off. Now we'll be ready for the sophs."

"What can you do?"

"Well, if you know in time, as we do now, we can take down the best things in our room, so they won't get busted, and we can hide the bed clothes, so they won't get soaked. Then we can put on our old clothes.

It's no fun to have a good suit ruined, especially when you don't find new clothes growing on trees."

"That's right. Let's go to our room and make ready."

"Oh, we've got plenty of time. I fancy it won't be until after dark. The only thing is for all of us freshmen to keep together if we go out. For if they catch two or three of us alone they'll put it all over us. But I guess there won't be any scrub game now. The sophs would break it up."

"When do we have any rest from them?"

"In about two weeks. After the pole rush."

"The pole rush?"

"Yes. It's an old college custom, as Fenton's uncle would say. We freshmen form a ring about the big flag-pole on a certain night and the sophs try to pull us away. If they make us leave inside of fifteen minutes it means we can't wear the cla.s.s college colors until next term.

If we win, why, we sport a hat like Fenton had--the one Morse and Denfield slashed up."

"I see. But, say, I'd like to know more about the ball team. Does Langridge run it all?"

The two lads by this time were in their room, where they proceeded to hide under the beds and bureaus their choicest possessions against the prospective raid. It was close to the supper hour and they did not have much time.

"No, Langridge doesn't run everything," answered Sid. "He's manager, that's all."

"That seems a lot."

"Well, it is in a way, though it's only because he has plenty of cash and isn't afraid to spend it. But he couldn't be elected captain. He tried, but was defeated his first term, though he made the managership."

"Who is captain?"

"Bricktop Molloy was last year, but this season we're going to have a new one. I guess Dan Woodhouse stands as good a show as any one. He's a senior and a fine player."

"Woodhouse--that's an odd name."