In the same instant Lee snatched the cane from his grasp, and Robinson caught the silk hat as it fell.
But the victory was short-lived. Van Loan’s assailants turned with their trophies only to find themselves face to face with and outnumbered by a party of Van Loan’s classmates, who plunged at once to the rescue.
Then the rush was on. Up from the midst of the struggling mass came the class call of the Sophomores. It was followed at once by the class cry of the Freshmen. Soon the campus was alive with students hurrying singly and in groups toward the scene of the conflict.
Freshmen and Sophomores darted at once into the thick of the fight, while the Juniors and Seniors, moving about on the outskirts of the battleground, cheered and encouraged alternately the contending factions.
Van Loan had struggled to his feet as the center of battle moved away from him, and looked down ruefully and in speechless anger at his soiled and dripping garments.
“Don’t look very pretty, do they?” said a smiling Junior who stood by.
The victim of the drenching did not deign a reply. He jerked off his coat, and began wringing the water from it. Suddenly he asked: “Who was it, anyway? What coward threw me down?”
“A young fellow by the name of Parmenter,” was the answer; “a first-class all-around athlete. I shall be happy to introduce you to him at some more opportune moment.”
Van Loan did not relish the bantering tone of his informant; and muttering something more about cowards and bullies, he turned savagely on his heel, and started across the campus toward his room.