The little fellow had spied Young. "Good-night," he said, holding out his hand, "much obliged for what you did. My name's Lee."
"Young is my name." They shook hands. "Hope you aren't hurt," Young added, smiling.
"Nope; see you again. Good-night."
The Freshmen now began to scatter in all directions in the darkness, some of them limping and some of them going slowly because out of breath; and some had fewer garments than when they left their rooms. But all had a great deal more class spirit, and that is the object of the cannon rush. There was not one among them who would have missed it for anything.
Young reached his room without adventure. He limped a little as he went upstairs, but he did not know it.
He had been in his room but a few moments when a knock came at the door. He had had no callers before this.
"Come in," said Young, cheerfully. He thought perhaps it was Lee.
In walked Channing, the little Sophomore, and behind him a very big Sophomore, dressed in a football suit. Young recognized him as the one that struck little Lee, and he seemed to recognize Young; at least he grinned and showed the place where a front tooth was gone.
And Channing wore Young's hat.