Ballard had hastily jumped up. He did not look at Young; he did not say a word. He was panting hard; he leaned on Channing's arm and limped quickly and quietly away. The other Sophomores followed behind; none of them looked back. There was a dramatic silence.
"He's not much hurt," said a Junior who knew Ballard of old, and he was right, for before the Sophomores quite reached the corner Ballard had stopped limping and was walking as well as anybody. "Say, Channing," another upper-classman called after them, "how about that spanking?" and before the small Sophomore was out of earshot he had the pleasure of hearing the upper-classman begin a narration which was received with squeals and shouts of laughter.
MEEK BUTT OF ALL CLASSES!
Before curfew rang in Old North at the close of that day the whole college was talking about it.
Meanwhile Young, in the centre of another ring, was sitting on the curbstone panting like a good fellow. Lee was bending over him mopping his face with his own handkerchief and patting him on the back and laughing excitedly.
"Are you hurt, old man?" asked one of the Juniors.
Young shook his head.
"What's his name?" asked one of the others.
"Young's his name," answered little Lee, proudly, like the exhibitor of something rare.