“Isn’t he the sassy little boy!”
“Yank him out of there!”
The freshmen surrounding the auto thus reviled those in the car.
The auto had come to a stop, but the engine was still running, free from the gears. Now and then, as he saw an opening, the lad at the wheel would slip in his clutch and the car would advance a few feet. Then more of the school boys would swarm about it, and progress would be impeded.
“Smash through ’em, old man!” advised one on the rear seat. “We don’t want to stay here all night!”
“That’s right; run ’em down,” advised his companion. “We’re—we’re—what are we, anyhow?” he asked, and it did not need a look at him to tell the cause of his condition. In fact, all in the auto were in a rather hilarious state, and the running of the car over the campus had been the result of a suggestion made after a too-long lingering in a certain road-house, where stronger stuff than ginger ale was dispensed.
“We’re all right—noshin matter us,” declaimed one. “Run ’em down, ole man!”
“Look out! I’m going through you!” cried the lad at the wheel. The freshmen in front of the car parted instinctively, but before the young chauffeur could put his threat into execution, Andy and his chums had reached the machine.
“Get out of here!” cried Andy, and, reaching up, he fairly pulled the steersman from his seat. The chap came down in a rush, nearly upsetting Andy, who, however, managed to yank the lad to his feet.
“Pull ’em all out!” came the cry from Tom, and a moment later he, with the aid of Ben, Chet and Frank, had pulled from the car the other young men, who seemed too dazed to resist.