"Ashamed of rushing to beauty's aid?" demanded Frank, laughingly.
"Nothing like it," Dick protested, growing redder still. "I was ashamed over having let the footpad get away."
"What? And he twice your size?" gasped Thompson. "Fellows, what do you think of the modest cheek of this freshie! Ashamed because he couldn't bag a full-sized thug!"
"That kid's the mustard!" broke in another first classman, approvingly.
"That's what he is!" came from others.
"Wow! whoop!"
They began crowding about the confused, blushing freshie, pumping his uninjured left hand. Then some one shouted:
"He's all right, from the ground up. He's a Gridley boy! He's only a freshie in years, but he'll get over that. Now, up with Dick Prescott! On your shoulders! Give him the High School yell!"
Before he could even dodge, this High School freshman found himself going up in the air. With all consideration for his injured hand the upper classmen rushed him out of the school grounds, onto the street, holding him aloft in the post of honor. The other boys followed. Even the few girls followed, waving their handkerchiefs, while a lusty roar went up:
"T-E-R-R-O-R-S! Wa-ar! Fam-ine! Pesti-lence! That's us! That's us! G-R-I-D-L-E-Y—-H.S. Rah! rah! rah! rah! Gri-idley!"