The slaughter went on joyously until the panting freshmen were well satisfied. Then the juniors and seniors tore open the blocking mass of men and opened long lines, down which the sophomores staggered and ran in their wild efforts to escape.
And the men of the two upper classes held onto their sides and roared with laughter. In all the history of Yale there had never been such a Lambda Chi night as this. The tables had been turned completely on the sophomores, and the freshmen were hilariously triumphant.
Jack Ready was sick at heart.
“Confound Merriwell!” he grumbled. “He must have let that fellow Boltwood free in some way, and this is the result! Oh, say! where can I find some rat-poison? I want to take a lunch!”
CHAPTER XX.
THE FIGHT FOR THE FENCE.
The freshmen were overjoyed and triumphant; the sophomores were downcast, battered, and gloomy. But of all the battered and gloomy sophs, Jack Ready was the “batterdest” and the gloomiest.
“It’s awful!” he groaned. “The fall of Jericho was nothing beside this! Talk about the sun and moon standing still! Great cats! This will turn the whole universe backward and set the planets to capering along in the wrong direction. My, my! but I’m very, very tired!”
He held both hands to his head and looked sick.