Lee executed a breakdown very skillfully, landing finally on Parmenter’s table, from which elevation he proceeded to deliver a mock oration.
The noise and confusion drew three or four other Sophomores into the room; and when Lee had been dragged down and quieted, the conversation turned from the prize stage to Parmenter’s shoulder, and from Parmenter’s shoulder to Freshman Van Loan.
“He thinks he won the fight,” said one of the young men. “He takes all the credit to himself, every bit of it. Brags about it without ceasing. You couldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole before the rush; the Atlantic cable wouldn’t reach to him now.”
“Some fellow told him the other day,” added another member of the group, “that unless he stopped his everlasting boasting, the Gamma Questers might do him the honor to call on him.”
“What did he say to that?” asked Robinson.
“Said he’d be pleased to see ’em. Said he’d make it interesting for ’em. Said they’d better have a surgeon in readiness to wait on ’em when he got through with ’em. Said he should particularly enjoy meeting his friend Parmenter under such auspices.”
“Oh, he’s dead set against you, Parmenter,” cried another. “He hasn’t forgiven nor forgotten that mud-bath yet. He says the collar-bone business was only part payment, and that the remaining installments will be fully as delightful as the first one was.”
For a minute no one spoke. Robinson was looking around the room, scanning intently each man’s face. Finally he said:
“Boys, if there’s any one here who don’t believe in hazing under proper circumstances will he have the goodness to retire?”
No one stirred.