Something over a hundred freshmen came together in a confused, pushing, shoving mass before the restaurant entrance. Accusations of dereliction of duty were frequent. Denials answered them. The masterful Higbee, striving to make his voice heard above the tumult, demanded proof. Assertions and denials battled for supremacy. Staples had gone in. Staples hadn’t gone in. Lots of fellows had seen him. They were crazy. Higbee waved a hand in exasperation. The policeman from the corner appeared suddenly in the scene, his good-natured voice mildly exhorting them to “move on now and don’t be blocking the sidewalk.” Slowly they gave back, flocking into the street. Across the thoroughfare the group of juniors, laughing enjoyably, forgot their neutral status and proffered wicked advice.
“Go on up and get him, Freshies! Don’t let him fool you that way!”
Fortunately perhaps, the noise was still too great for the advice to reach the freshmen. And just then a window went up on the second floor of the building, and the shade was pushed aside. “Oh, Fresh!” Comparative silence fell, and the crowd in the street craned their heads and sought the voice, slowly backing from the entrance in their effort to see. “Oh, Fresh!” Again the mocking challenge. A mutter arose from the throng that grew rapidly into a roar of futile rage. At the window Slim Staples smiled benignly down and waved a gay hand.
“Who wins the bet?” he called.
“A cold dinner for you, Slim!” shouted a freshman shrilly. A shout of approval went up, but Slim shook his head.
“Haven’t started yet,” he answered. “Oysters just coming up!” Grinning faces appeared behind Slim’s at the window. “Now then, fellows, three hearty groans for the Freshman Class!”
With a final wave of his hand, Slim disappeared, the window closed, and the long white shade fell back into place. A dismal silence held the throng below. Only the unkind laughter of the juniors disturbed the quiet of the moment. And in that moment, made desperate by Slim’s mention of oysters, a boy in a white sweater that was somewhat too large for him, detached himself swiftly from the group and sped toward the doorway. The shout of warning came too late. So, too, did the effort of the startled policeman. The latter’s hands came away empty, and Leonard, caroming from a corner of the doorway, righted himself and went scurrying up the flight of stairs.
At the top he paused for an instant to glance behind. The policeman was trying to do two things at once and succeeding. He was peering undecidedly after the trespasser and holding back the pursuit. With an unsteady laugh Leonard tried the knob of the door in front of him, from behind which came the sounds of a merry party. It did not yield. Leonard tried again and put his weight against the portal. From below came the hoarse voice of the officer.
“Hey, youse, come down out of that before I comes up and gets you!”
Leonard beat a tattoo on the door. The policeman started slowly and heavily and remorselessly up the carpeted steps. Behind him the doorway was crowded with faces. Leonard kicked until the door shook.