Their guess was right and for a moment they were actually within the coveted circle, but when the marshals made their onslaught on the crowd in order to expand the ring they were whirled into outer ranks and had only, after a desperate effort and "under a pressure of a hundred pounds to the square inch" as Turner expressed it, succeeded in digging their way back to the third or fourth tier in that circle of human faces. They were more fortunate than the hundreds who prowled around outside without a chance of a glimpse at the wrestling.
"We've lost the Codfish," exclaimed Frank. "Oh, Gleason," he called, but there was no answering voice.
"Lost in the shuffle," said Turner. "He was with us a minute ago but he'll turn up. He won't miss any tricks, don't you forget it."
"He isn't much for this kind of a scramble game," returned Frank. "I thought he was holding back a bit when we struck in this last time, but——"
"Sophomores, bring out your candidates," roared a big man who wore the football Y on his blue sweater.
"Who is that whale of a man?" asked Frank.
"That's Howard, the football captain," volunteered a boy just in front of them, who had overheard the question. The speaker held a notebook in his hand and they afterward learned he was a news-heeler getting a story for the News, the official college paper.
"Freshmen?" inquired the heeler, looking our friends over.
Frank nodded.