Page 34 - The Adventures of a Freshman

CHAPTER VII

THE LAST HAZING OF "THE MEEK BUTT OF ALL CLASSES"

It was all Young's fault that his little friend Lee was, like himself, in the embarrassing embrace of these
Sophomores, and he knew it; and that worried him more than anything they might do to himself. This was a
fine way to repay Lee for his kindness!

Channing was still sticking the lantern up close to Young's blinking eyes, and saying, mockingly, "Well, well,
you poor old fool of a Deacon! you poor old pathetic fool."

If Young could only jerk himself free he thought he could snatch Lee away from the two Sophomores holding
him and then in the darkness they could surely escape. There was everything to gain and nothing to lose in the
attempt.

"Now," said Channing, "let's see who the other foolish Freshman is."

Then through Young's mind there darted the thought: "Now's the time! Their attention is diverted." The
dazzling light had been taken off his eyes. At the same instant, and as quick as the flash of the lantern, he
neatly whisked his arms out of the hands that held them, sprang backward, throwing, as he did so, the two
startled Sophomores forward by the shoulders, and wheeled around toward Lee.

Now little Lee, you may be sure, was watching for a chance to make a dash for liberty. Hearing the scuffle of
feet in front of him he tried a similar trick. But his captors also had heard the scuffle; instinctively they
tightened their grasps. Lee shook off but one of them, whirled around, and started off; the smaller of the two
Sophomores was hanging like a bull-dog to his left arm.

Young, half-blinded in the change to darkness from dazzling light, bumped into Lucky, hurriedly grabbed him
by the free hand and away they dashed. It was not quite two seconds from when Young made his first jump to
the time he was going down Nassau Street and making good speed considering that he was pulling Lee by the
left hand, who in turn dragged unwillingly with the other hand the Sophomore whose knees were scraping the
flagstones.

Of course, by this time the other Sophomores were after them--were now only a few yards behind and were
gaining at every stride.

For about forty yards Young ran as he never ran before. The only hope was that the clinging Sophomore
would get tired of sweeping Princeton pavements with his knees; a moment more and he would surely drop.
"Stick to him," the other Sophomores were shouting in the dark. Two of the pursuers were almost up to them.
Lee gave a furious wrench. It was a little too furious. He tripped and fell. Young slackened up and tried to pull
Lee to his feet, but Lee purposely loosed his hand and cried, "I'm a goner, run!" At that instant two
Sophomores dropped on him as they would on a rolling football and cut off his wind.

But Young did not run--he turned around to try and free his friend-- a third Sophomore running at full speed
tackled him furiously, as football players tackle. They both tripped over the bodies on the ground. Lee felt two
more men come tumbling down in a tangle upon those already on him.

"We got 'em both, fellows," screamed one of the Sophomores in the darkness to the others behind.

"Are you hurt, Lee?" asked a voice near the back of his neck.

"How'd you--get--in this?" Lee panted. "Thought you were--block 'way by--this time."