he was holding back a bit when we struck in this last time, but——"

"Sophomores, bring out your candidates," roared a big man who wore the football Y on his blue sweater.

"Who is that whale of a man?" asked Frank.

"That's Howard, the football captain," volunteered a boy just in front of them, who had overheard the question. The speaker held a notebook in his hand and they afterward learned he was a news-heeler getting a story for the News, the official college paper.

"Freshmen?" inquired the heeler, looking our friends over.

Frank nodded.

"That fellow, yelling for a Freshman lightweight candidate, is the crew captain," went on the heeler; "and over there to his left is Dunnelly, the chap who kicked the goal against Princeton last year and saved us the game." The heeler pointed out the celebrities as they prowled around the ring, calling loudly for wrestling champions.

"You see," explained the heeler, "there are wrestling bouts in the three weights,—light, middle and heavy, between the Sophomore and Freshmen for the class championship. Three bouts in each event."

"O, you Freshmen, show your sand, trot out a candidate!" bawled one of the men within the ring. The crowd outside clamored for candidates from the Freshmen.

"We want a Sophomore lightweight!" roared another, and the crowd took up the cry and repeated it. "Sophomore lightweight, Freshman lightweight, don't be quitters, come across with the champions!"

"Sophomore lightweight, Sophomore lightweight!"

"Freshman lightweight!"

"Don't be quitters!"

"Show your sand, Freshmen!"

Suddenly there was a commotion on one side of the ring, and amid yells and the shaking of torches, the living wall opened and a slender, blond-haired youth stepped into the ring.

"Who is he?"

"What's his name?"

"Sophomore or Freshman?"

"Sophomore," said the boy.

"Your name," demanded a marshal.

"Ballard."

"Your weight?"

"One twenty-nine, stripped."

"You'll do."

Immediately two Juniors volunteered to second him, and fell to work stripping him to the waist, the traditional custom for the friendly combat.

Meanwhile the calling for a Freshman lightweight went on without success, and the crowd was throwing red-hot taunts at the youngest class for shirking their duty. The Freshmen had pushed one of their number into the ring, but he proved to be over the required weight and was cast out without ceremony.

A commotion on the outside of the ring started anew the calls for a Freshman lightweight, and the call was unexpectedly answered by the appearance of a young man in delicate light gray clothes with blue necktie and socks to match, who was passed unceremoniously over the hands of the crowd and deposited right-side-up on the green grass of the enclosure.

Jimmy gasped. "The Codfish, or I'm a Hottentot!"

"No one else, for sure. How did they get him?" exclaimed Frank.

The Codfish was greeted by a rattling cheer, followed by much advice.

"Well done, Freshman!"

"Take off those pretty clothes!"

"He certainly is a Yale man, look at that tie!"

"Good work, Freshman, eat him up!"

The referee, the Captain of the Yale Wrestling Team, strode over to the Codfish, and looked him up and down.

"You are not a very promising specimen," he said. "Ever wrestle before?"

"Never," said Gleason. "All I know about wrestling wouldn't hurt anyone."

"What's your name and weight?"

"Gleason, and I weigh one twenty-five."

"Stripped or with those clothes on?"

"Clothes and all," said the Codfish with a grin, and his eyes wandering around the sea of faces, chanced to light on his two friends, Armstrong and Turner. He waved an airy salute to them, and began with his seconds, two Seniors, to divest himself of his coat, shirt and undershirt.

"He really means to wrestle," gasped Frank. "Can you beat it?"

"He certainly has his nerve with him," returned Jimmy.

"His middle name is nerve."

The preliminaries over, Ballard and the Codfish faced each other in the flickering light of the torches, shook hands, and at the shrill scream of the referee's whistle, rushed at each other. Neither was versed in the art of wrestling, but both were about the same size. Down they went on the ground, Gleason underneath, the Sophomore struggling to pin the shoulders of the Freshman to the ground, which meant victory. But just at the moment when things looked bad for the under-dog, he slipped out of the hold, squirmed free and threw himself with all his force against the Sophomore, bearing him over sideways. The assault was so sudden that Ballard was taken unawares, and before he could gather himself, Gleason sprang on the prostrate boy and shoved his shoulder points on the grass. A resounding slap on the back by the referee testified to the success of the attack, and it was the Freshmen's turn to cheer, which they did right lustily.

CHAPTER II. A BRUSH WITH THE POLICE.

"First blood for the Freshman. Wow!!"

Both principals were now in their corners being fanned with towels and put in shape for the second bout which was to follow immediately, for there were three in each event as the Codfish learned to his sorrow. His eyes wandered again to where Frank and Turner were wedged in the crowd, almost speechless at what they saw before them.

"The Codfish of all creatures in the world to be wrestling for his class," laughed Jimmy.

"We live and learn. He may be out for football yet."

The subject under discussion just at this moment bent his head and whispered something to one of his seconds, then looked up and nodded in the direction of his friends agape on the other side of the circle. For a moment the gaze of the second rested on Armstrong and Turner. Then the whistle blew and the boys sprang again to the center of the ring.

This time it was different. The Sophomore did not rush in so fearlessly. He circled round and round with arms outstretched and figure crouching. Then he sprang at the Freshman's leg and before the latter knew it he was on his back with his opponent squarely across his chest.

"Fall for the Sophomore," announced the referee, slapping the victor on the shoulder. Sophomore yells rent the air.

"A tie, a tie! Now bury the Freshman this time. Go to it."

Again the seconds ministered to their men, and after a two-minutes' rest the boys went at it, but the Codfish, who was not noted for his physical prowess, went down after a brief tussle, and the lightweight event was awarded to the Sophomores amid yells by that class which echoed back from the buildings of the quadrangle. Gleason struggled into his clothes, and ducked through the living wall as fast as he could go, while the calls for the middleweight wrestlers were being yelled by the marshals.

A husky young Sophomore quickly responded, but again the Freshmen were slow with their man.

The big football captain, who had been in conference with some of his aides, walked across the ring.

"You red-head, there," pointing to Turner, "come out here and defend the honor of your class. The Freshman who just wrestled says you're a good one."

Frank and Jimmy looked at each other.

"So that's the game the Codfish put up on me," said Jimmy. "Wait till I get at him. I'll dirty his clothes worse than they are now."

"Come on, Freshman," said the Captain