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 sophomores.
There was a confused mass of arms, legs and bodies. The mass 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 sophomores, 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,
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