“Nope.”
“Then you’ll want to know some of the Sheddon traditions; every college has ’em. If you know ’em beforehand, it’s easier.”
“Shoot,” said Dick; “we’re here to learn.” Then, with a fine assumption of uninformed innocence: “Where can I get one of those sweaters with an ‘S’ on it, like the one you’re wearing?”
“That’s the first of the traditions,” returned the big Junior, with a little frown; “not to be fresh with your elders.”
Dick apologized handsomely.
“That was fresh,” he admitted. “I can see that the green cap is going to fit me like a tailor-made suit of tights. Please forget it, and tell us some of the traditions.”
Merkle briefed them. No smoking on the campus—which didn’t hit either of the “twins” because as yet they didn’t smoke anywhere—no cutting of class or college celebrations; no backing down when they were asked to take part in any of the college activities; no shirking of the “try-outs” for the various athletic teams.
“Lots of other little stunts that you’ll absorb as you come to ’em,” Merkle concluded; adding: “Of course, you’ll both be in the bridge scrap. You can’t do much but make a loud noise on the side-lines, because you’re not beefy enough”—meaning Dick; “but you”—with a nod for Larry—“you look fit enough to heave a locomotive off the track. Played on your High School eleven, didn’t you?”
Larry nodded, and Dick explained: “Half-back; he’s too modest to tell you so himself. But what about this bridge scrap?”
“It’s the pure quill,” said Merkle. “Dark night; single-span concrete bridge about a mile back in the country. Sophomores defend it; Freshies try to rush it. Two upper classes on hand to keep the murder list as low as possible. You’ll like it.”