Boltwood soon became the terror of the sophomores, who were afraid to stand up before him. As a consequence, the freshmen had things their own way in a very short time, and the sophs were driven from the fence.
Then the freshmen piled onto the fence and sang and whooped and had a glorious time. This was their night, and Boltwood was their pride. They wondered how it happened they had never known the fellow was such a perfect whirlwind.
“Why, he’s a match for Merriwell!” some of them declared.
Others, however, and there were more of them, declared that Merriwell would handle Boltwood just as easily as Boltwood had handled Jack Ready.
They patted Boltwood on the back and told him he was “it.” They shook his hand, and wanted to hug him, but he told them not to slobber. He seemed a really modest fellow, who was not at all anxious to be praised and applauded. They decided that it must be his natural modesty that had kept him in the background so long. And yet, had they paused to think it over, they must have known that the poet was not nearly as modest about some things.
But the freshmen were in no condition to think. All they could do was cheer and sing and laugh and taunt the chagrined and mortified sophomores.
CHAPTER XXI.
SOLVING THE MYSTERY.
“Fellows,” growled Jack Ready, “we’ve got to retake that fence if we do it with the aid of Gatling guns! I am willing to shed my heart’s blood, but I am not willing to listen to the insulting howling of those freshies.”