“Speaking of the freshmen brings me to what I came here for,” declared Dutch, and Tom gave a sigh of relief, that their visitor was away from the delicate subject. “What are we going to do to fool the first years, and keep ’em away from our spring dinner?” demanded Dutch. “That’s what I called about. The dinner is to be held next week, a few days before our game with Fairview, and, naturally, the freshies will try to break it up.”
“I’ve been so busy with getting ready for the exams and baseball, that I haven’t given the dinner much thought,” declared Tom. “Of course we’ve got to have it, and we must fool the freshies.”
“Sure,” agreed Phil. “Let’s go have a talk with Holly Cross. He may be able to suggest something.”
“Come on!” called Dutch. “We’ll call on Holly.”
As the three strolled down the corridor, out on the campus, and in the direction of Holly’s room, the genial center fielder having an apartment in one of the college club houses, Dutch nudged his companions.
“Look,” he remarked, “there go Ford Fenton and Bert Bascome, with several freshies. I don’t like to see one of the sophs mixing it up so close with the first years.”
“Me either,” agreed Tom. “Ford ought to stick to his own class. The trouble is few of our fellows like him, on account of his ways and his ‘uncle,’ whereas the freshmen will stand for them. That’s why Ford hangs out in their camp. But with our annual spring dinner coming off, I don’t like it.”
“Oh, Ford wouldn’t dare betray us,” was Phil’s opinion. They kept on across the campus, and were soon in Holly’s room, where plans for the dinner were eagerly discussed.
If they could have seen what took place a little later in the room of Bert Bascome, the four sophomores would have had more cause than ever to regret the intimacy between Ford Fenton and some of the first-year crowd.