This comment was called forth as the victim, in his efforts to escape from his tormentors, had his coat and vest torn from him. In a little time his shirt was reduced to ribbons. A fine gold watch and its broken chain lay on the ground among the feet of the struggling boys, and an unsuspecting heel soon reduced the time-piece to little more value than the metal in the case. A wallet slid out of a pocket and disgorged from its folds considerable cash and paper, some of which the bystanders gathered up with much difficulty. The freshman’s panama, kicked about in the dust, was not rescued until it resembled an uprooted weed.
“We wouldn’t enjoy being treated that way,” commented Gus, the sentimental.
“We couldn’t afford it,” amended Bill, the practical. “That sort of thing may be well enough for rich fellows, though I think it’s rank foolishness at any time. But, Gus, we’ve got to dodge it in some way.”
Gus made no reply. He was thinking that his chum was right, but, still interested in the excitement without, he left the usual whatever-it-must-be with Bill. When Bill spoke again, some few minutes after the well-hazed youth had made a get-away, Gus listened with interest.
“We can get the materials,” Bill finished, “and it won’t take long to do the work.”
And it did not. Having procured a permit from the professor of physics—and no one could have refused Bill with his convincing tongue—the boys returned well loaded to their room. They took from a paper packing box, whose contents had been hidden from the curious, a lot of wire, some switches, some acid and a number of storage battery cells.
On their way from the central building the chums had been stopped by a number of upper classmen. It was mid-afternoon, an optional study or playtime, and just the hour for brewing mischief. This is what happened.
“Come on there, Freeporters! Put down those boxes; we have a little business to transact with you,” the spokesman called.
Gus gazed calmly at the five militant youths in front of him. Without undue egotism, he possessed an easy confidence, and he knew that, barring some bumps and scratches, that bunch would need assistance in hazing him. He would have complied forthwith, had not Bill given an ultimatum. With a small box under his left arm, he shifted his crutch to his left fingers and slipped the free hand into his pocket, drawing forth about the wickedest-looking pistol that any thug would use. The five began backing away, the spokesman turning quite pale and the others, no doubt, feeling much as he looked.
“Would you Indians want to haze me?” Bill asked.