"How'd you—get—in this?" Lee panted. "Thought you were—block 'way by—this time."
Young was panting, too, so he only said, "No—still here." He had got Lee into this mess and he meant to stick by him.
The Sophomores, keeping tight hold of Lee and tighter hold of Young, slowly arose, allowing their recaptured prisoners to stand up.
"I hope you're not hurt, Lee?" asked one of them in a somewhat sympathetic voice. He still kept tight hold of the Freshman, however.
"Nope, I reckon not," said Lee, who hadn't been playing football since the age of twelve for nothing.
They all leaned against the fence and panted for a moment
Young made out nearly a dozen Sophomores in the half-dark.
Lee stopped panting and smiled. "Well, what are you going to do with us?" he asked, grimly.
"Shut up, Freshman, that's our business," said one of them. It was the same man that had asked Lee if he was hurt a moment before.
"So, Deacon," said Channing, "you wouldn't come back when we told you to, you old hay-seed Deacon!"