That was the most singular part of it all. Those men, so long rival leaders of the freshman class, seemed ready and willing to surrender the leadership to this new man, who had never before done anything to distinguish himself.
But there was no time to wonder over that now. There was little time to give it a passing thought. Harder and harder pressed the freshmen, and the sophs began to sway and waver. A moment later the soph line broke, and then those on the outside began to jump in and try to yank the freshmen out, to tear up in this manner the compact mass of rushers.
But, with a twisting movement, the freshmen swept on and bore the sophomores back from a part of the fence. This partial victory seemed to give the attacking-party greater vim, while it literally maddened the sophomores.
“Yank ’em! yank ’em!” cried those who were working on the edges, and they would catch the freshmen by the arms or collars, and drag them out from the rushing body, fling them down, sometimes hit them. In fact, both sides were beginning to use their fists, and the rush was degenerating into a free fight.
And the seniors and juniors roared with laughter, still urging the mad combatants on. Not for years had there been such hot times on Omega Lambda Chi anniversary as there was to-night. If the faculty did not interfere, the riot might result in a large collection of beautiful black eyes on the morrow.
Through the thickest of the fray stalked Boltwood. Man after man tackled him, and man after man went down before him. He seemed to have the power of a Hercules, and he soon became a perfect terror for the sophs.
Jack Ready had been dazed when he failed to bring the fellow down by a tackle. It was wonderful that Ready was not trampled under foot by the oncoming freshmen, but he managed to straighten up, finding himself caught in the rush and whirled along like a feather.
In vain he had tried to break away; he was hurled against his own class, and seemed to help in the work of beating back his friends, to his unspeakable disgust. But through all the wild times that followed, Ready’s one thought was to find Boltwood and meet him again.
“I’m done for if I don’t!” he thought. “I’ll be the guy of both classes! Oh, mama! why was I ever born into this world of strife and worry?”
And when the fighting became general, Ready finally found Boltwood. They were face to face. At the same moment Bingham came up behind the poet.