Bill made another motion touching the wall button, and instantly, with a combined and very audible gasp, the seven youths relaxed, got away from the wires and stood up. There would probably have been a general retreat mixed with a volley of expletives hurled at Bill and Gus, had not Gus taken a hand in the prevention of this, as planned. A stream of water from a long syringe, aimed over the heads of the sufferers, had cleared the doorway of spectators. The jerk of a ceiling cord slammed the door shut and it was deadlatched, requiring a key to open it. The would-be hazers, thus trapped and fearful of attempting a further attack, turned, perforce, to face their captors.
But there was one fellow, Albert Shurtlief, who so deeply resented the electric shocking that his desire for instant retaliation robbed him of caution. He was coming right over the wires again and did get partly through before another touch of the wall button gave him a second siege of writhing. The others looked on in wonder, convinced that the best thing they could do was to remain quiescent. Gus said:
“Let up on him, Bill, and if he wants to come through——”
Again the button. The still furious sophomore did get past the wires and was going to make a rush at Bill when Gus stood in his way.
“Now, please. You ought to go a little slow.” That was a way Gus had in making a protest against what might end in a scrap. But without further ado, Shurtlief, who was commonly known as “Scrapper Bert,” let fly an angry fist right at Gus’ exposed jaw.
If the electrically charged wires had surprised the mischief-making upper classmen, the sudden collapsing of their fistic champion shocked them even more. Scrapper Bert was rather noted for his prowess. No one cared to put on the gloves with him, nor to gain his displeasure. To see the new boy, a “measly freshman,” not as tall, as heavy nor as old as Bert, catch the assailant’s hard-driven fist in the palm of an instantly extended hand and then let drive with his own right a neat, short-arm uppercut that got Bert just where he had meant to get Gus, was a needed lesson to the smug conceit that too often goes with added school years. Bert, from a seat on the floor, which he had taken without choice of the spot, regarded his opponent through half-closed eyes with a certain nonchalance, his anger fled. He slowly got to his feet, climbed back through the wires without further thought as to their being charged, and stood with his companions, quite submissive and mute.
As usual on all occasions demanding words, Bill’s tongue was loosened:
“Look here, fellows, we want to give you the right dope on this thing: You see we are here to study—to try and go through if our money holds out. Our people are not rich and, like Tom Edison when he was a boy, we’ve got to hustle on short allowance. And we really can’t afford to be hazed, as you did that new chap yesterday. If we had to buy new clothes and watches and caps, we’d have to quit school—see? And we knew you never missed anybody much, so we naturally, asking your pardon, got up this nice little reception for you. Now to get right down to brass tacks, you see our position and respect it—everyone of you—and, putting yourselves in our position, you don’t blame us, nor hold any grudges; isn’t that so?”
Siebold, spokesman, made reply, after thinking a little.
“Oh, well, I suppose all is fair in war. You’ve had your innings now, of course, but we’ll have ours later.” And then he added: “We’ll get you.”