But the sophomores were sore and discouraged. The heart and life had been taken out of them. They had lost confidence in Ready and Bingham. They had lost confidence in themselves. They remembered with terror the stalking wonder of the freshmen, the new leader, Rolf Boltwood.
“That’s all right to say,” muttered one; “but we’re no match for them as long as they have that fellow.”
“And that fellow should be safe under lock and key now!” growled Bingham, rubbing his lame shoulder.
Jack Ready begged them to follow him. Do it then, he urged, and they might take the freshmen by surprise. The freshmen thought they had driven them off for good and all. But it is not at all certain he could have induced them to follow him had not Frank Merriwell suddenly appeared and put in a word.
“You fellows will never hear the last of it if you let the freshmen keep your fence,” he said. “You can’t do that, and you know it. Try a rush, locked together, and see if you can’t sweep them back. Go at them in earnest while they are singing and whooping over their triumph.”
“If we had you for a leader,” said some one. “If you would meet that holy terror Boltwood.”
“Oh, he’s a mark!” said Frank. “Anybody can handle that chap.”
“My, my!” murmured Ready. “How wise you are! Bet a cabbage you can’t handle him so easy!”
Frank laughed.
“I’m ashamed of you, Ready,” he said. “He’s no athlete.”