The outraged chairman was wholly at a loss how to deal with the “unprecedented situation”—so he defined it, quite truthfully; and he continued to pound upon the desk, while other clamours began to rival Linski's; shouts of “Put him out!” “Order!” “Shut up, Freshman!” “Turn him over to the sophomores!”
“This meeting is adjourned!” bellowed the chairman, and there was a thronging toward the doors, while the frothing Linski asseverated: “I'm a-gunna git my say, I tell you! I'll have my say! I'll have my say!”
He had more than that, before the hour was over. A moment after he emerged from the building and came out, still hot, upon the cool, dark campus, he found himself the centre of a group of his own classmates whom he at first mistook for sophomores, such was their manner.
...As this group broke up, a few minutes later, a youth running to join it, scenting somewhat of interest, detained one of those who were departing.
“What's up? What was that squealing?”
“Oh, nothing. We just talked to that Linski. Nobody else touched him, but Ramsey Milholland gave him a peach of a punch on the snoot.”
“Whoopee!”
Ramsey was laconic in response to inquiries upon this subject. When someone remarked: “You served him right for calling you a boob and a poor fish and so on before all the society, girls and all,” Ramsey only said:
“That wasn't what I hit him for.”
He declined to explain further.