“It’s to a finish!” said Ready, through his teeth. “If they get the best of it this time, I’ll go jump off the earth!”
“Here they come!” was the thrilling cry.
The freshmen came with a rush. They were full of confidence and enthusiasm, and they felt able to do almost any old thing to the sophomores.
“Stand firm!” roared Bingham.
The compact mass of onrushing freshmen looked formidable enough, and, to tell the truth, the sophomores were not quite prepared for them.
“Down with the sophs!” was the war-cry of the freshmen. “Soak ’em! soak ’em!”
And in the lead came the long-haired poet, Boltwood, running like a deer, calling for the others to follow him.
Morgan and Starbright were also at the head of the freshmen, but somehow since the affair in the pass Boltwood had suddenly been recognized as a bold, strategic, and skilful leader.
“He’s the chap I’m looking for!” cried Ready, and he sprang out to grapple with the new leader of the freshmen. Ready cast himself forward to make a head-on tackle about the freshman’s hips, intending to bring Boltwood to the ground with a jolt that would settle him for a while.
Then, to the astonishment of everybody, Boltwood leaped into the air and went clean over the head of the crouching sophomore.