The Young Pitcher | Page 3

this term. And the big one's
coming. Hang, Freshie! We're all with you."
"Fresh on fifth!" The tenor of the cry had subtly changed.
Good-humored warning had changed to challenge. It pealed up from
many lusty throats, and became general all along the four packed rows.
"Hang, Freshie!" bellowed a freshman from the topmost row. It was
acceptance of the challenge, the battle-cry flung down to the Sophs. A
roar arose from the pit. The freshmen, outnumbering the sophomores,
drowned the roar in a hoarser one. Then both sides settled back in
ominous waiting.
Ken thrilled in all his being. The freshmen were with him! That roar
told him of united strength. All in a moment he had found comrades,
and he clenched his fingers into the bench, vowing he would hang there
until hauled away.
"Fresh on fifth!" shouted a Soph in ringing voice. He stood up in the pit
and stepped to the back of the second bench. "Fresh on fifth! Watch me
throw him out!"
He was a sturdily built young fellow and balanced himself gracefully
on the backs of the benches, stepping up from one to the other. There
was a bold gleam in his eyes and a smile on his face. He showed
good-natured contempt for a freshman and an assurance that was close
to authority.
Ken sat glued to his seat in mingled fear and wrath. Was he to be the

butt of those overbearing sophomores? He thought he could do nothing
but hang on with all his might. The ascending student jumped upon the
fourth bench and, reaching up, laid hold of Ken with no gentle hands.
His grip was so hard that Ken had difficulty in stifling a cry of pain.
This, however, served to dispel his panic and make him angry clear
through.
The sophomore pulled and tugged with all his strength, yet he could not
dislodge Ken. The freshmen howled gleefully for him to "Hang! hang!"
Then two more sophomores leaped up to help the leader. A blank
silence followed this move, and all the freshmen leaned forward
breathlessly. There was a sharp ripping of cloth. Half of Ken's coat
appeared in the hands of one of his assailants.
Suddenly Ken let go his hold, pushed one fellow violently, then swung
his fists. It might have been unfair, for the sophomores were beneath
him and balancing themselves on the steep benches, but Ken was too
angry to think of that. The fellow he pushed fell into the arms of the
students below, the second slid out of sight, and the third, who had
started the fray, plunged with a crash into the pit.
The freshmen greeted this with a wild yell; the sophomores answered
likewise. Like climbing, tumbling apes the two classes spilled
themselves up and down the benches, and those nearest Ken laid hold
of him, pulling him in opposite directions.
Then began a fierce fight for possession of luckless Ken. Both sides
were linked together by gripping hands. Ken was absolutely powerless.
His clothes were torn to tatters in a twinkling; they were soon torn
completely off, leaving only his shoes and socks. Not only was he in
danger of being seriously injured, but students of both sides were
handled as fiercely. A heavy trampling roar shook the amphitheatre. As
they surged up and down the steep room benches were split. In the
beginning the sophomores had the advantage and the tug-of-war raged
near the pit and all about it. But the superior numbers of the freshmen
began to tell. The web of close-locked bodies slowly mounted up the
room, smashing the benches, swaying downward now and then, yet

irresistibly gaining ground. The yells of the freshmen increased with
the assurance of victory. There was one more prolonged, straining
struggle, then Ken was pulled away from the sophomores. The wide,
swinging doors of the room were knocked flat to let out the stream of
wild freshmen. They howled like fiends; it was first blood for the
freshman class; the first tug won that year.
Ken Ward came to his senses out in the corridor surrounded by an
excited, beaming, and disreputable crowd of freshmen. Badly as he was
hurt, he had to laugh. Some of them looked happy in nothing but torn
underclothes. Others resembled a lot of ragamuffins. Coats were minus
sleeves, vests were split, shirts were collarless. Blood and bruises were
much in evidence.
Some one helped Ken into a long ulster.
"Say, it was great," said this worthy. "Do you know who that fellow
was--the first one who tried to throw you out of number five?"
"I haven't any idea," replied Ken. In fact, he felt that his ideas were as
scarce just then as his clothes.
"That was the president of the Sophs. He's the varsity