"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 sophomores 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.
