Then came the clashing shock of the two classes meeting, and in the furious struggle that followed not a few fellows were hurt more or less. The freshmen tried to sweep the sophomores away with the vigor of their onset, and they did hurl them back somewhat.
Then, rallied by the cries of their leaders, the sophs braced and held their ground. Those in the front ranks of both classes received a squeezing that drove the breath from their bodies and seemed to flatten them out like pancakes.
“Ow-wow!” gasped a fat soph. “I’m being squoze to death!”
“Squoze!” panted the freshman against whom he was jammed, “is no—name—for—it! I’m being squashed!”
Both sides cheered and pushed and jammed. From a distance the juniors and seniors looked on and laughed and urged each class to keep at it.
This was sport, indeed, for the two upper classes.
The voice of Boltwood sounded clear and loud, urging those behind him to shove the harder.
“Somebody hit that long-haired jake with a brick!” cried an angry soph. “He’s made the whole thing a fizzle to-night!”
“’Rah for Boltwood!” roared Dick Starbright, without the least show of jealousy.
“’Rah! ’rah! ’rah!” yelled Dade Morgan.