“Like the old guard, we die, but never surrender,” spoke Tom. “We’re not going to back down, Langridge. It’s easier for you to go back than for us.”
“Well, I’m not going to do it. You have no right to move your stuff in here, anyhow. The rooms are furnished.”
“We want our old chair and sofa,” explained Sid.
“I should think you’d be ashamed to bring such truck into a decent college,” expostulated Langridge. “It looks as if it had been through a fire in a second-hand store.”
“That’ll do you,” remarked Phil. “This is our sofa, and we’ll do as we please with it.”
“You won’t block up my way, that’s one thing you won’t do,” declared Langridge fiercely. “I’m going down. Look out! If I upset you fellows it won’t be my fault.”
He started down the stairs, and managed to squeeze past Phil, who, though he did not like Langridge, moved as far to one side as possible in the narrow passage. As Langridge passed the sofa he struck it with a little cane he carried. A cloud of dust arose.
“Whew!” exclaimed the sporty lad. “Smell the germs! Wow! Get me some disinfectant, Gerhart.”
Whether it was the action of Langridge in hitting the sofa that caused Tom to stagger, or whether Phil was unsteady on his feet and pushed on the sofa, did not develop. At any rate, just as Langridge came opposite to Tom on the stairs, the former pitcher was jostled against his rival. Langridge stumbled, tried to save himself by clutching at Tom and then at the sofa. He missed both, and, with a loud exclamation, plunged down head first, bringing up with a resounding thud at the bottom.