“If you say uncle again inside of a week, we’ll duck you!” cried Sid as he jostled Ford to one side. “We know him by heart by this time.”
“I don’t believe he ever had an uncle,” declared Kerr. “But come on, fellows, let’s have a parade.”
The idea took at once, and the victorious freshmen formed in line and marched about the college buildings, singing songs and yelling joyfully, for it had been a good, fair, clean fight, and they had won.
“Let’s go to Haddonfield and get out hat bands,” proposed Langridge. “We’ll all be wearing them in the morning.”
As discipline was rather relaxed during the first two weeks of the term and as it was the custom for the victorious class to celebrate in some way the idea was adopted and the joyous lads made for the town, which at their advent at once awakened from a sort of evening nap. They went to a dealer who made a specialty of college goods and soon all were decked out in the gay hat bands, all save a few who, like Fenton, had already provided themselves with the articles.
“I suppose you aren’t used to such things as this down on the farm, are you?” asked Langridge of Tom sneeringly as they were about ready to depart for the college. “Corn husking bees and quilting parties are more in your line.”
“Wa’al, thet’s what they be!” retorted Tom quickly, imitating the nasal drawl of the typical farmer. “We folks down Northville way is some pumpkins when it comes t’ huskin’ corn. Was you ever there, sonny?”
His manner was so patronizing and the effect of his words and assumed mannerisms so odd that the lads about him burst out laughing, much to the annoyance of Langridge.
“Going to the post-office for the mail and meeting the pretty country girls was about the height of your enjoyment, wasn’t it?” persisted the rich youth, who seemed bound to pick a quarrel with Tom.
“Wa’al, now you’re talkin’,” came the quick answer in the same drawl.