Young felt himself brushing up against something hard and solid. Sure enough it was the big iron breech of the old cannon that he had seen standing muzzle down, in the centre of the quadrangle.
The little fellow jumped down from Young's shoulders upon it, and began to lead a cheer, though he did not know how to do it very well. But he waved his hands about his head and everyone yelled exultingly. They had won.
Then Jack Stehman, the Junior coach, hustled the little one off, jumped up on the cannon himself and led a cheer in the right way. The little fellow was out of sight now, but not out of memory. He was a hero.
AFTER THE RUSH.
In walked ... the little Sophomore, and behind him a very big Sophomore. Young recognized him as the one....
Meanwhile some of the other Sophomores had zealously rushed some of the other Freshmen off the quadrangle and were shouting themselves hoarse for their victory down by Clio Hall, but the Freshmen had the cannon. That was what they were after all this time, as Young now learned.
"It's all over now. Go home, you fellows," said the hoarse-voiced Juniors, silencing the exuberant Freshmen.
"We rushed them, though, didn't we?" eagerly asked a Freshman with necktie gone and coat torn half off. Young saw it was his small comrade.
"'Course you did," said Jack Stehman, his voice sounding gruff and authoritative. "Go to your rooms as fast as you can; Sophs'll haze tar out of you if they catch you to-night. They expected to have an easy thing of it."