Shielding his head with his upraised arms he entered the lane. Thick and fast the blows rained on him. Most of them came from bundles of paper and did not hurt much. As books, however, came down on Larry’s head they made him wince. But he only joined in the shouts of glee and made up his mind not to care.
“He’s game all right!” cried several of the older lads. “Soak him, fellers!”
“Whoop!” yelled the crowd, with as much vim as did ever the Indians shout over the discomfiture of a captive.
Larry was halfway down the line. He got some pretty hard knocks there, as the bigger lads were at that point. One blow sent his hat sailing from his head. He was about to stoop and pick it up, but someone yelled:
“Go ahead; we’ll save it for you!”
On he ran. He began to wish he was at the end of the lane, which seemed to be getting longer instead of shorter. The blows came thicker and were harder. In fact they all seemed to be from bundles of books now, as few of the remaining boys had paper. But Larry was not going to back out.
The excitement was growing, as several other luckless ones had been made to take the dreaded journey. This took some attention away from Larry, for which he was thankful. Now he was within a few lads from the end of the line. Several vigorous blows were given, making Larry’s arms and head sting with pain. Then, just as he was about to emerge from the gauntlet, someone put out a foot and tripped him. Larry threw out his hands and saved his head from hitting the pavement, but his palms were cut by the fall.
He staggered to his feet, anger in his heart, and a desire to tackle the boy who had tripped him so unfeelingly.
“That’s a mean trick!” exclaimed several of the boys.
“Who did it?” asked Larry.