“Hold fast, everybody!” cautioned Phil as he grasped Tom’s arm.
“Here they come! here they come!” was the warning cry, and with a rush the sophomores hurled themselves against the mass of lads about the pole.
[CHAPTER VII]
TOM HOLDS HIS OWN
It seemed for a moment as if the first-year boys would be quickly shoved aside and their places taken by the sophomores, for so heavy was the impact that the outer and second lines of defense were broken through and the attackers were in the midst of the defenders.
“Throw ’em back! throw ’em back!” yelled Phil Clinton. “Tackle low!”
“Think you’re playing football?” panted Tom, for some of his mates had been pushed against him and he almost lost his grip on Phil’s arm.
“It’s like a scrimmage,” replied Phil. “That’s the stuff, boys!” he added as the lines of defense formed again.