“Sir!” cried Fenton, for the grip hurt him.
“That’s better. Now remember, no more ribbons until after the pole rush, and maybe not then. This to all you freshies,” added Morse.
“Oh, we know that,” put in Langridge. “But we’ll all be wearing them after next week, and we’ll be wearing something else, too.”
“Nixy on the clapper, old chap!” called Denfield. “We won’t stand for that.”
“We’ll see,” responded Langridge. “All is not gold that doesn’t come out in the wash.”
“Ha! He speaks in parables!” cried Morse. “Well done, old chap! But come on, Denfield. I’ve got a date.”
The youth holding Fenton gave him a sudden turn and twist that sent him spinning to the ground, and as he picked himself up the two sophomores walked off, as dignified as senators.
“Confound them!” muttered Fenton as he brushed the dust off his clothes. “I’ve a good mind to——”
“Easy, now,” advised Langridge. “They’re sophs, you know. Go easy!”