About five minutes later the watchful-waiting throng of freshmen at the Moody street end of the block again rushed into barricade formation, spurred on by the joyous applause of a score of juniors who, having stationed themselves inside the barricade in the hope of witnessing some fun, were finding the proceedings rather tame. A rickety taxi had swung around from Market street and was attempting to penetrate the barrier. The freshmen rallied to the threatened invasion.
“Stop that taxi!” was the slogan. “Look inside!”
Opposed by a solid mass of humanity, there was nothing for the driver of the vehicle to do but stop. He did so, protesting forcibly and most impolitely. The freshmen swarmed about the dilapidated taxicab, breasting the sizzling radiator and showering questions on the fuming proprietor. Others peered in through the glass. Suspense and confusion reigned. On the corner a policeman twirled his club and looked on in good-natured amusement. On such occasions as this the Law was ever lenient with youth. The suspense was short-lived. A cry of joyous triumph arose and the doors of the cab were snatched open.
“Here he is!” was the cry. “Trying to sneak past! Nothing doing, Staples! Try again, Soph!”
“Pull him out!” advised a fellow well removed from the center of the crowd.
“Turn around, cabby! No thoroughfare, old sport! Detour by Market street. Police orders.”
Then of a sudden triumph came to an end. A disgusted voice arose above the joyous clamor. “It isn’t Staples! It’s only General Grant!”
“What!” “You’re crazy!” “Let’s see!” “Show us!” “Oh, shucks!”
Leonard was extremely dignified throughout what was, quite naturally, an annoying experience to a peaceful traveler of the city streets. “You fellows haven’t any right,” he said firmly, “to stop this taxi. I’ve paid the driver to take me to Kingman’s Restaurant, and—”