shoving mightily himself. He seemed as strong and as regardless of his body as a mad bull, and yet he was as calm as a man loading hay.

"Rush 'em off the campus! Rush the Freshmen!" shouted the Seniors now becoming alarmed.

"Yea-a-! we're doing 'em," panted the well-built man beside Young. "Shove! shove! shove!"

Young was straining and shoving with his teeth set and he felt as if his ribs would soon break. But he had the exultant joy of victory. His feet were off the ground and he was being carried along by the force of those behind him.

The Sophomores had tried to take them by surprise before they got up the grade by the Library. If they had been successful they would have made short work of the Freshmen. As it was they had more momentum, but in hurrying across the campus to accomplish their design their lines had become loose. The Freshmen, on the other hand, were solid through and through, and now the compact mass in the rear was beginning to tell. The Freshmen were shoving the Sophomores back. Young heard shouts of victory.

But at this point the usual and natural result took place. The lines were too long for their width, and so it was only for a moment that they kept straight head to head; the pushing from behind bent them and they doubled in upon themselves. The Freshmen 'way back there in the rear thinking the Sophomores had retreated rushed on hard, shouting for their class and their victory, while at the same time part of the Sophomores did the same thing on the other side. And so sections of each column passed each other shouting, "Rush 'em!" and the rest turned around on each other and got hopelessly mixed up and excited. In this mix there was much shouting and considerable cap-grabbing and some rough work. And the confused, disorganized Freshmen did not know just what was going on until a sudden cry went up, "Look out! look out! Here they come again."

"Get in line—for Heaven's sake," hurriedly shouted a Junior, and "This way," roared big Stehman, "this way, I tell you, you fools!"

But it was too late. The rumbling was heard again, and from an unexpected direction, and before the huddling Freshmen could even get started, a compact mass of Sophomores came pounding down upon them, ploughed through them, knocked some of them over and came out solid on the other side.

Then there was great shouting among the Sophomores, with much blatant, exultant cheering.

Meanwhile the rallying cry of "Ninety-blank this way!" began ringing out again. It was over by the quadrangle and now the scattered Freshmen were scurrying over toward the sound of it.

"Ninety-blank?" shouted a boyish voice in Young's ear not two feet away from it.

"Yes," said Young, excitedly, and took the owner of it by the arm and hurried along through the crowd toward their comrades.

Just then an unseen hand made a grab at Young's hat—off it went; and the grabber dodged out of sight in the crowd and darkness.

"There goes my hat," said Young.

"Mine went long ago," said his new-found comrade, meaning ten seconds before. He was a little fellow and seemed very young. "We oughtn't to have taken them out of our pockets." He was laughing excitedly as he ran along.

They hurried into line with the others by West College.

A Junior dressed in a conspicuous white flannel suit came running over, shouting, "The Sophs are just beginning to form over there by the cannon. Hurry and you can get them on the flank."

"All right," cried Jack Stehman, "come on, fellows. Never mind weights and sizes. Now do something, do something for your class."

"Come on," called another, "this time we get the cannon!"

Without waiting for all the class to collect, or for perfect formation, the Freshman column dashed down at the thick of the Sophomores who now stopped giving "This-way" shouts and started forward to meet their opponents. They knew that to be caught napping meant to be rushed, and then the Freshmen would gain the coveted cannon.

Again the two columns met like two big waves, and like spray the front lines were dashed on high. Young was up there this time, literally face to face with the Sophomores. He could see them straining and grunting and pushing like himself. The little fellow that had fallen in rank beside him was up there too, being tossed about like a cork.

The Sophomores were only half prepared for the attack, and were being charged back; Young felt them giving way before him. It felt good.

"Hold them, hold them, fellows!" shouted the Seniors, and some of them pitched in to help their allies, the Sophomores.

But they could not hold them, and the little fellow beside Young began screaming, "We're rushing 'em! we're rushing the Sophs," in the Sophomores' very faces.

A big Sophomore in the front rank got one arm free, reached up and struck the little fellow in the face, then got hold of his coat and began to jerk the little one down.

Young reached over, grabbed the big Sophomore's wrist and freed his little classmate. "Hi! Deacon!" cried a disagreeable voice somewhere in the rows of Sophomores before him. Young was devoting all his energy to the little fellow whose nose was now bleeding; this did not seem to bother the latter, for he wriggled around, nimbly clambered up on Young's big shoulders, then kneeling on them and having free play for his arms he began to strike right and left at the Sophomores beneath him as fast as he could, and he seemed to be able to strike both fast and hard.

Seeing his pluck those behind him now plunged forward harder than ever.

"Yea-a-a—the cannon—the cannon, we've got it!" cried the little fellow.

Young felt himself brushing up against something hard and solid. Sure enough it was the big iron breech of the old cannon that he had seen standing muzzle down, in the centre of the quadrangle.

The little fellow jumped down from Young's shoulders upon it, and began to lead a cheer, though he did not know how to do it very well. But he waved his hands about his head and everyone yelled exultingly. They had won.

Then Jack Stehman, the Junior coach, hustled the little one off, jumped up on the cannon himself and led a cheer in the right way. The little fellow was out of sight now, but not out of memory. He was a hero.