Another of the Juniors went down the line saying, in a low voice, "Put your caps in your pockets, fellows—put your caps in your pockets, fellows." Many of them had already done so. Some only pulled theirs on tighter.
"Are you ready back there, Tommy?" asked one of the Juniors.
"Yes, Jack."
The man hugging Young's arm whispered, "That's Jack Stehman, the great tackle."
"Oh," said Young, looking admiringly at the powerful-looking football hero.
"Now then, fellows," Stehman was saying to the Freshmen, "the Sophomores are lined up and waiting for you over by West College; one of our men has just come from there. You fellows are nearly fifty men stronger than they are. Stick together and you'll rush them dead easy."
At this four or five excited Freshmen started a faint cheer but it was crushed down by several vigorous "sishes!" "Keep your mouths shut," said one of the other Juniors.
"Now, follow me and, mind, stick together, whatever you do. Stick together!" This was big Jack Stehman again. Young admired him; hoped to become well acquainted with him some day.
The compact mass moved forward, their bodies close together and their legs and feet beneath taking quick short steps as best they could. It was like a huge dark centipede, except that centipedes probably do not step on so many of their heels at once.
On either side walked upper-classmen, some calmly smoking pipes as if there was nothing to be excited about, laughing lightly and making remarks. The way they looked at Young and his companions reminded him of his father and the other farmers judging live stock at the county fair.