"Right you are, Sam!" answered Bob Grimes, who also had hands and arms full of well-made snowballs.
"Remember what I told you," came from Stanley, as he turned slightly to address his followers. "Don't throw any snowballs yet. Do as the soldiers did in Revolutionary days—wait until you can see the whites of their eyes."
"And then make those whites blacks!" burst out Spud Jackson, gaily. "Come ahead, and no turning back."
Up the snowy hillside sped the crowd of students, while a number of professors and visitors watched the advance from a distance.
"Get ready for 'em! Don't let them come too near!" came in a rallying cry from behind the snow wall. And then, as the attacking party came closer, a volley of white spheres came flying through the air into the faces of the juniors and seniors.
It was a sharp and heavy volley, and for the instant the air seemed to be filled with flying snowballs. Many of them, of course, went wild, but others landed on the heads and bodies of the attacking party, and for the moment the advance was checked.
"Wow!" came from one of the juniors who had been hit in the ear. "Why can't we do some throwing ourselves?"
"That's the talk! Give it to 'em!" came from another student who had had his cap knocked off by a snowball.
"No, no," answered Stanley. "Save your snowballs until we get closer."
"Come on, we'll soon be up there," put in Sam Rover. "Only a hundred feet more, fellows!"