The air was catchy, and Frank found himself humming as he walked along:
"Show them who's the master,
Raise the Blue and Gold."
"If I can't do anything else, Jimmy, I can help the team by singing."
"Well, I'm thinking that singing won't save this Queen's School football bunch when we meet Warwick."
"Is Warwick strong this year? I saw they had cleaned up Dean without much trouble, but haven't noticed much about them."
"Strong!" ejaculated Jimmy, "I guess they are. They've taken everyone they've played into camp this fall, and they boast that Queen's scalp will dangle at their belts as the last and the best of the series. Like the fellow in Danny Deever, 'I'm dreading wot I got to watch' two weeks from Saturday—that's the date of the bloody battle down there on the gridiron," and Jimmy jerked his thumb in the direction of the meadow.
In their promenade the boys had almost reached the second entry in Warren Hall when they noticed a group of perhaps half a dozen fellows, a short distance up the walk. As Frank and Jimmy came up to the entry this group got in motion and approached them, and as they passed, one of the group jostled Frank off the walk. "Keep out of the way, Freshmen," said a gruff voice, but in spite of the attempt to disguise it, both boys recognized it instantly.
"Chip Dixon," they exclaimed in a breath.