“It must be Wilson’s dummy come to life,” replied another. Wilson was the college tailor.
Van Loan heard these uncomplimentary remarks, and his face flushed with anger. He started boldly on, turning to the right as if to pass by the group. But half a dozen Sophomores intercepted him.
“What do you fellows mean by this impertinence?” he asked, curtly.
“We mean,” replied Parmenter, “that Freshmen are not yet allowed to carry sticks or wear ‘plugs.’ As you came here recently, from a one-horse college, perhaps you were not aware of this rule. If not, we shall be pleased to escort you to your room, where you can lay these highly objectionable articles of apparel away, and let them grow with your growth until it is time for you to wear them. But if you have knowingly and deliberately violated our rule, we—”
“What business is it of yours what I carry or wear?” interrupted Van Loan, hotly. “Stand aside and let me pass, or some one will get hurt!”
“Having declined our offer to escort you to your room,” continued Parmenter, coolly, “we shall be obliged to ask you to deliver up to us at once the articles I have named.”
“You shall not have them!” replied Van Loan, savagely. “I dare any one of you to come and get them. I dare all of you to take them away! You are cowards and bullies, every one of you!”
Nevertheless, as the Sophomores approached him he backed out into the road, retreating steadily until he came to the edge of a muddy pool of water left by the melting snows.
“You are robbers!” he shouted, fiercely. “What right have you to stop a gentleman in the public road and demand his property?”