“Any time you say,” added Joe.
“The beggars were expecting us!” yelled a newcomer, crowding into the room.
“Going to fight?” demanded someone.
“Going to try,” said Joe coolly.
“Give ’em theirs!” was the yell.
“What’ll it be—paste or mush?”
Joe saw that several of the Sophomores carried pails, one seemingly filled with froth, and the other with a white substance. Neither would be very pleasant when rubbed into the hair.
“Maybe you’d better cut ’em both out,” suggested Joe.
“Not on your life! Got to take your medicine, kid!” declared a tall Sophomore. He made a grab for Joe, who stepped back. Someone swung at our hero, who, nothing daunted, dashed a fist into his antagonist’s face, and the youth went down with a crash, taking a chair with him.
“Oh, ho! Fighters!” cried a new voice. “Slug ’em, Sophs.!”