Something fell with a thud in the midst of a group of freshmen. It was the bell clapper, which the Snail had unhooked. Tom Parsons made a dive for it.
“I’ll take that!” exclaimed Langridge roughly, as he shoved the newcomer to one side and grabbed up the mass of iron.
“I was only going to help,” replied Tom good-naturedly.
“Cut with it!” ordered Kerr. “We can’t hold ’em much longer, and we don’t want ’em to get it now. Skip, Langridge. Take some interference with you.”
As if it was a football game, several lads made a sort of flying wedge in front of Langridge, with him inside the apex, and, thus protected, he bored through the mass of sophomores.
“After him!” yelled several second-years, who had become aware of the trick. “He’s got the clapper!”
Most of the lads rushed away from the chapel, only those remaining who were holding the rope taut. Some of these even started away.
“Hold on!” yelled the Snail. “I’m up here yet! I want to get down!”
“Don’t leave Sam up there!” cried Kerr. “Hold the rope, fellows, until he shins down.”