Ken's glance followed the wave of Dale's hand and took in the tall, bronze-haired sophomore who had led the chase that afternoon. Boswick wore a huge discolored bruise over his left eye. It was hideous. Ken was further sickened to recollect that Boswick was one of the varsity pitchers. But the fellow was smiling amiably at Ken, as amiably as one eye would permit. The plot thickened about Ken. He felt his legs trembling under him.
“Boswick, you forgive Ward, don't you—now?” continued Dale, with a smile.
“With all my heart!” exclaimed the pitcher. “To see him here would make me forgive anything.”
Coach Arthurs was ill at ease. He evidently knew students, and he did not relish the mystery, the hidden meaning.
“Say, you wise guys make me sick,” he called out, gruffly. “Here's a kid that comes right among you. He's on the level, and more'n that, he's game! Now, Cap, I fetched him here, and I won't stand for a whole lot. Get up on your toes! Get it over!”
“Sit down Worry, here's a cigar—light up,” said Dale, soothingly. “It's all coming right, lovely, I say. Ward was game to hunt me up, a thousand times gamer than he knows.... See here, Ward, where are you from?”
“I live a good long day's travel from the university,” answered Ken, evasively.
“I thought so. Did you ever hear of the bowl-fight, the great event of the year here at Wayne University?”
“Yes, I've heard—read a little about it. But I don't know what it is.”
“I'll tell you,” went on Dale. “There are a number of yearly rushes and scrapes between the freshmen and sophomores, but the bowl-fight is the one big meeting, the time-honored event. It has been celebrated here for many years. It takes place on a fixed date. Briefly, here's what comes off: The freshmen have the bowl in their keeping this year because they won it in the last fight. They are to select one of their number, always a scrappy fellow, and one honored by the class, and they call him the bowl-man. A week before the fight, on a certain date, the freshmen hide this bowl-man or protect him from the sophomores until the day of the fight, when they all march to Grant field in fighting-togs. Should the sophomores chance to find him and hold him prisoner until after the date of the bowl-fight they win the bowl. The same applies also in case the bowl is in possession of the sophomores. But for ten years neither class has captured the other's bowl-man. So they have fought it out on the field until the bowl was won.”