The latter speaker suited the action to the word; Bull followed, growling surlily.
"Look at that gang of plebes!" he muttered. "They're the ones who helped Mallory take away the fellow we were hazing; they think they're right in it, now."
"Yes," chimed in Baby. "And see that fellow, Texas, making a fool of himself."
"That fellow Texas" was "making a fool of himself" by dancing about in wild excitement, and raising a series of cowboy whoops in behalf of his friend, and of plebes in general.
"There they are, ready to go!" cried Murray, betraying some excitement.
"I wish the confounded plebe'd never come up again!" growled Bull, in return, striving hard to appear indifferent.
"I bet Fischer'll do him!" exclaimed the Baby. "He swims like a fish. Say, they're going to race to that tree way down the river. Golly, but that's a long swim!"
"Long nothing!" sneered Vance. "I could swim that a dozen times. But, say, they'll finish in the rain; look at that thunderstorm coming!"
In response to this last remark, the crowd cast their eyes in the direction indicated. They found that the prediction seemed likely to be fulfilled. To the north, up the Hudson, dense, black clouds already obscured the sky, and a strong, fresh breeze, that smelled of rain, was springing up from thence, and making the swimmers shiver apprehensively.
The preparation for the race went on, however; nobody cared for the storm.