Before curfew rang in Old North at the close of that day the whole college was talking about it: "Big green Freshman ... thought he didn't dare say his soul was his own.... That irrepressible little Channing, first ... worm turned ... yes, on the third floor of University—Bob Ellis saw the whole thing himself ... caught big Freshman this morning with Lee—yes, that nice little fellow.... Sophs undertook to make him paste procs—no, Lee first.... Little one was game.... Big Bally—yes, went at Lee.... Big Freshman turned on Bally—Bally punched him—um, right up here, under eye, a nasty one—then big, meek Freshman.... Oh, my! lovely!——"
Only in the telling it became twenty or thirty Sophomores, and it was over a fence that Ballard was thrown.
CHAPTER VIII
HOW IT FEELS TO BE A HERO
Several weeks had passed since Deacon Young had become a class hero, and a great many things had happened.
The Freshmen had published and posted their own proclamations since then (with a good crack on a man named Ballard), and the Sophomores had torn them down, long ago. The Ninety-blank class football team had been started, and Young was trying for the position of right guard—and finding football not so much a matter of mere muscle as it looked; the class glee club had been organized; a great many friendships had begun; nearly everybody had joined Whig or Clio Hall (whether they cared to debate or not); and they were all becoming thoroughly accustomed to being at college and had begun to love it. But Freshman Young was not yet accustomed to having people treat him with so much consideration, and he did not know quite what to make of it.
It was still amazing to him that such a comparatively small matter could make such a difference in the way he was regarded. One day he was the most obscure and despised man in the Freshman class, and the next day—he was the most talked of character on the campus. He did not wake up to find himself famous; he had become famous all in a minute, before he had a chance to go to sleep. Ever since, it had been, "How are you, old man," from the very ones who used to laugh and say, "Here comes 'Thank you marm.'" Prominent fellows in the class who formerly merely nodded to him, said, "You must drop up to my room some evening." The Sophomores bothered him no more; Channing and Ballard—somehow they were always looking in the other direction when Young met them on the walk. Even upper-classmen said, "Hello there, Young," condescendingly but pleasantly, and that fellow Linton stopped him one day and congratulated him. "Only," he added, puffing his pipe, "only don't get stuck on yourself, Young."
"Hello-o-o, Deacon, hold up a minute," called Minerva Powelton one day on the way from Recitation Hall. "Say, Deacon, old man, come over to my room, I want to talk to you." He threw an arm carelessly over one of the Deacon's good shoulders.