"Naw, let the class secretary do it first," interrupted Ballard, in his rough voice.
Though the crowd had often hazed Lee they had always found him such a bright, good-natured little chap that Ballard was never allowed to humble him as much as since the rush he had always wanted to. Here was a fine chance. Young could wait; it was not much fun to haze Young, anyway, he was so meek.
"Get to work there now, Secretary," Ballard shouted in his loud voice. He did not have brains enough, Young thought, to be sarcastic, but he had plenty of lungs. "Close in around them, fellows."
Of course the Freshmen required the use of their hands if they were to paste procs, so the two were shoved in toward the wall and the dozen Sophomores with locked arms formed a semi-circle about them. It would be out of the question for the two to try and escape now.
Young and Lee were standing by the paste-bucket with their backs to the Sophomores, who were about twelve feet away from them.
"Come, get to work there, little boys," said Channing. "You and Young have nearly fifty more to paste before breakfast."
"Hurry up there," Ballard echoed, shouting in a tone to wake the neighborhood.
Just then a lazy voice was heard. "Heads out! Sophomores are making Freshmen paste procs! heads out—, everybody look!" It was a Senior leaning from an upstairs window of University Hall. He was in his pajamas.
Meantime, Ballard, who loved to show his power, had stepped arrogantly into the ring saying, "Do you hear what I say, you little fool! Pick up that brush and get to work."
"Heads out, everybody, heads out! Lots of fun," cried the sleepy-looking Senior.