Then there was great shouting among the Sophomores, with much blatant, exultant cheering.
Meanwhile the rallying cry of "Ninety-blank this way!" began ringing out again. It was over by the quadrangle and now the scattered Freshmen were scurrying over toward the sound of it.
"Ninety-blank?" shouted a boyish voice in Young's ear not two feet away from it.
"Yes," said Young, excitedly, and took the owner of it by the arm and hurried along through the crowd toward their comrades.
Just then an unseen hand made a grab at Young's hat—off it went; and the grabber dodged out of sight in the crowd and darkness.
"There goes my hat," said Young.
"Mine went long ago," said his new-found comrade, meaning ten seconds before. He was a little fellow and seemed very young. "We oughtn't to have taken them out of our pockets." He was laughing excitedly as he ran along.
They hurried into line with the others by West College.
A Junior dressed in a conspicuous white flannel suit came running over, shouting, "The Sophs are just beginning to form over there by the cannon. Hurry and you can get them on the flank."
"All right," cried Jack Stehman, "come on, fellows. Never mind weights and sizes. Now do something, do something for your class."