“Don’t say a word,” cried the one who had gone down. “Only—well, if I catch you on the fence, it will be who’s best man, that’s all.”
“Aren’t we to do anything to these freshies?” demanded Dudd Flockley. He did not at all relish the turn affairs had taken.
“Can’t do a thing until tomorrow,” answered Frank Holden decidedly.
“Bah! I believe in making a freshie toe the mark as soon as he arrives.”
“So do I,” added Jerry Koswell.
“Can’t be done—against the traditions of Brill,” answered the class leader. “You’ve got to give a freshman time to get his feet planted on the ground, you know,” he added kindly and with a smile at Dick and Sam.
“Thank you for that,” answered the older Rover. “We’ll be ready for the whole sophomore class by tomorrow.”
“We’ll see,” answered Holden and passed on, and the majority of the second-year fellows followed. Flockley and Koswell lingered behind.
“See here, you chaps,” said Flockley. “What are your names?”
“If you want to know so bad, my name is Dick Rover and this is my brother Sam.”
“And who was the other fellow?” asked Koswell.
“My brother Tom.”
“Three brothers, eh, and named Rover!” growled Dudd Flockley. “All right, I’ll remember that, and I’ll remember how you treated us up to the Sanderson place.”
“And I’ll remember it too and square up,” added Koswell.
“We’ll make Brill too hot to hold you,” snapped Flockley, and then he turned into the gateway leading to the campus and his crony followed.
CHAPTER V
GETTING ACQUAINTED
“Dick, we have made two enemies, that’s sure,” remarked Sam to his brother as they watched Flockley and Koswell depart.
“It couldn’t be helped if we have, Sam,” was the reply. “You are not sorry for what we did at the Sanderson house, are you?”
“Not in the least. What we should have done was to give those chaps a sound thrashing.”
“They seem to have a number of friends here. Probably they will do all they can to make life at this college miserable for us.”
“Well, if they do too much, I reckon we can do something too.”
Some new students had been standing at a distance watching the scene described in the last chapter. Now one of them approached and nodded pleasantly.
“Freshmen?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered both of the Rovers.
“So am I. My name is Stanley Browne. What’s yours?”
“Dick Rover, and this is my brother Sam.”
“Oh, are you Dick Rover? I’ve heard about you. My cousin knows you real well.”
“Who is your cousin?”
“Larry Colby.”
“Larry!” cried Dick. “Well, I guess he does know us well. We’ve had some great times together at Putnam Hall and elsewhere. So you are Larry’s cousin? I am real glad to know you.” And Dick held out his hand.
“Larry is one of our best chums,” said Sam, also shaking hands. “I remember now that he has spoken of you. I am glad to know somebody at this place.” And Sam smiled broadly. Soon all three of the boys were on good terms, and Stanley Browne told the Rovers something about himself.
“I come from the South,” he said. “My folks own a large cotton plantation there. Larry was down there once and we had a lot of fun. He told me of the sport he had had with you. You must have had great times at Putnam Hall.”
“We did,” said Sam.
“I thought there were three of you, from what Larry said.”
“So there are,” answered Dick, and told about Tom and the missing dress-suit case. “Tom ought to be getting back,” he added.
Stanley had been at Brill for two days and had met both Flockley and Koswell. He did not fancy either of the sophomores.
“That Frank Holden is all right,” he said, “but Flockley and Koswell are very overbearing and dictatorial. I caught them ordering one of the freshmen around like a servant. If they had spoken that way to me I’d have knocked them down.” And the eyes of the Southern lad flashed darkly.
“Where do you room?” asked Dick. He remembered what the house master had said about Stanley and felt that the youth would make a nice roommate for anybody.
“I’m in No. 27, right next to you fellows. Mr. Hicks was going to put me in with you first, but afterward said a friend of yours was going to fill the place.”
“Yes,” said Dick. “But you will be right next door, so it will be almost the same thing. Who is your roommate?”
“A fellow named Max Spangler. I don’t know much about him, as he only came this noon. But he seems all right. Here he comes now.”
As Stanley spoke he motioned to a short, stout lad who was walking across the campus. The boy had a distinctly German face and one full of smiles.
“Hello, Friend Browne,” he called out pleasantly and with a German accent. “Did you find somebody you know?”
“I’ve made myself known,” answered Stanley, and then he introduced the others. “They bunk next door to us,” he added with a nod toward Dick and Sam.
“Hope you don’t snore,” said Max Spangler. “I can go anybody but what snores.”
“No, we don’t snore,” answered Sam, laughing.
“Then I’m your friend for life and two days afterward,” answered the German-American lad, and said this so gravely the others had to laugh. Max put the Rovers in mind of their old friend Hans Mueller, but he spoke much better English than did Hans, getting his words twisted only when he was excited.
Dick suggested that they all walk down the road to meet Tom, and this was done. The conversation was a lively one, Stanley and Max telling of their former schooldays and the Rovers relating a few of their own adventures. Thus the four got to be quite friendly by the time the carriage with Tom and Mr. Sanderson came in sight.
“Find it?” sang out Sam to his brother.
“No,” was Tom’s reply.
“You didn’t!” cried Dick. “How far back did you go?”
“Way back to Rushville. I know it was in the carriage at that place, for I saw it.”
“Too bad,” said Sam. “Did you have much of value in it?”
“Not a great deal. Most of my stuff is in my trunk. But the case alone was worth six dollars, and it had my comb and brush and toothbrush and all those things in it.”
“Want me any more?” asked Mr. Sanderson. “If you don’t, I’ll get home. It’s past milking time now.”
“No, I’ll not need you,” answered Tom and hopped to the ground. A minute later the farmer turned his team around and was gone in a cloud of dust.
Tom was introduced to Stanley and Max, and the whole crowd walked slowly back to the college grounds. Then Tom was taken to his room, the others going up-stairs with him. He washed and brushed up, went to the office and registered, and then the bell rang for supper.
The dining hall at Brill was a more elaborate affair than the messroom at Putnam Hall, but the Rovers were used to dining out in fine places, so they felt perfectly at home. Dick and Sam had already met the instructor who had charge of their table, Mr. Timothy Blackie, and they introduced Tom. Stanley and Max were at the same table and also a long-haired youth named Will Jackson, although his friends called him “Spud.”
“I don’t know why they call me Spud,” he said to Dick, “excepting because I like potatoes so. I’d rather eat them than any other vegetable. Why, when I was out in Jersey one summer, on a farm, I ate potatoes morning, noon and night and sometimes between times. The farmer said I had better look out or I’d sprout. I guess I ate about ’steen bushels in three weeks.”
“Phew!” whistled Sam. “That’s a good one.”
“Oh, it’s a fact,” went on Sp
ud. “Why, one night I got up in my sleep and they found me down in the potato bin, filling my coat pockets with potatoes, and—”
“Filling your coat pocket?” queried Stanley. “Do you sleep with your coat on?”
“Why, I—er—I guess I did that night,” answered Will Jackson in some confusion. “Anyway, I’m a great potato eater,” he added lightly. Later on the others found out that Spud had a vivid imagination and did not hesitate to “draw the long bow” for the sake of telling a good story.
The meal was rather a stiff and quiet one among the new students, but the old scholars made the room hum with talk about what had happened at the previous term. There was a good bit of conversation concerning the last season of baseball and more about the coming work on the gridiron. From the talk the Rovers gathered that Brill belonged to something of a league composed of several colleges situated in that territory, and that they had held the football championship four and three seasons before, but had lost it to one of the colleges the next season and to another college the season just past.
“Football hits me,” said Dick to Stanley. “I’d like to play first-rate.”
“Maybe you’ll get a chance on the eleven, although I suppose they give the older students the preference,” was the reply.
Stanley had met quite a few of the other students, and after supper he introduced the Rovers and Max and also Spud. Thus the Rovers were speedily put on friendly terms with a score or more of the freshmen and also several of the others. One of the seniors, a refined young man named Allan Charter, took the crowd through the library and the laboratory and also down to the gymnasium and the boathouse.
“We haven’t any boat races, for we have no other college to race against,” said the senior. “The students sometimes get up contests between themselves, though. Dick Dawson used to be our best oarsman, but last June a fellow named Jerry Koswell beat him.”
“Koswell!” cried Sam. “I thought he was too much of a dude to row in a race.”
At this remark the senior smiled faintly.
“Evidently you have met Mr. Koswell,” he remarked pointedly.
“We have,” answered Tom.
“Well, he can row, if he can’t do anything else.”
“I’d like to try my skill against him some day,” said Tom, who during the past year had taken quite a fancy to rowing.
“Perhaps Koswell will be glad to let you have the chance,” said Allan Charter.
A little later the senior left the freshmen, and the latter strolled back in the direction of the college buildings. It was now growing dark, and the Rovers concluded to go up to their rooms and unpack their trunks, which had just come in from the depot.
“You fellows want to keep your eyes wide open tonight,” cautioned Stanley, who came up with them.
“Hazing?” asked Dick.
“So I was told.”
“Will they start in so early?” asked Sam.
“Any time after midnight. I hate to think of it, but I reckon a fellow has got to submit.”
“That depends,” answered Dick. “I’ll not stand for everything. I’ll not mind a little hazing, but it mustn’t be carried too far.”
“That’s the talk,” cried Tom. “If they go too far—well, we’ll try to give ’em as good as they send, that’s all.”
“Right you are!” came from Sam.
They unpacked their trunks and proceeded to make themselves at home as much as possible. As Dick was alone in his room, he went over to his brothers’ apartment for company, locking his door as he did so.
“I’ll tell you what I’d do if I were you, Dick,” said Tom. “Stay here tonight. My bed is big enough for two on a pinch. Then, if there is any hazing, we can keep together. Tomorrow, if Songbird comes, it will be different.”
This suited the oldest Rover, and he brought over such things as he needed for the night. The boys were tired out, having put in a busy day, and by ten o’clock Sam and Tom were both yawning.
“I think I’ll go to bed,” said Sam. “If anything happens wake me up.”
“Oh, you’ll wake up fast enough if they come,” answered Tom. “But I am going to lay down myself. But I am not going to undress yet.”
Taking off their shoes and collars, ties and coats, the boys said their prayers and laid down. Sam was soon in the land of dreams, and presently Tom and Dick followed.
Two hours passed and the three lads were sleeping soundly, when suddenly Tom awoke with a yell. A stream of cold water had struck him in the head, making him imagine for the instant that he was being drowned.
“Hi, stop” he spluttered and then stopped, for the stream of water took him directly in the mouth. Then the stream was shifted and struck first Dick and then Sam. All three of the Rovers leaped from the beds as quickly as possible. Although confused from being awakened so rudely, they realized what it meant.
They were being hazed.
CHAPTER VI
A HAZING, AND WHAT FOLLOWED
The stream of water came from a small hose that was being played through a transom window over the door of the room. A lad was holding the hose, and in the dim light Dick recognized the face of a youth named Bart Larkspur, a sophomore who did not bear a very good reputation. Larkspur was poor and Dick had heard that he was used by Flockley, Koswell and others to do all sorts of odd jobs, for which the richer lads paid him well.
“Stop that, you!” cried the oldest Rover, and then, rushing to the door, he flung it open and gave a shove to what was beyond. This was a short step-ladder upon which Larkspur and several others were standing, and over the ladder went with a crash, sending the hazers to the floor of the hallway in a heap.
“Get the hose,” whispered Tom, who had followed his brother, and while the sophomores were endeavoring to get up, he caught the squirming hose and wrenched it, nozzle and all, from Bart Larkspur’s hand.
“Hi, give me that!” yelled Larkspur.
“All right, here you are,” answered Tom merrily, and turned the stream of water directly in the sophomore’s face. Larkspur spluttered and shied and then plunged to one side into a fellow student standing near. This was Dudd Flockley, and he was carried down on his back.
“Play away, Six!” called out Tom in true fireman style, and directed the stream on Flockley. It hit the dudish student in the chin and ran down inside his shirt collar.
“Stop, I beg of you! Oh, my!” screamed Flockley, trying to dodge the water. “Larkspur, grab the hose! Knock that rascal down! Why don’t somebody do something?”
“Give me that hose, you freshie!” called out Jerry Koswell, who was in the crowd. “Don’t you know better than to resist your superiors? I want you to understand—”
“Keep cool, old man, don’t get excited,” answered Tom brazenly. “Ah, I see you are too warm. Will that serve to keep your temperature down?” And now he turned the hose on Koswell, hitting the fellow directly in the left ear. Koswell let out a wild yell and started to retreat and so did several others.
“Don’t go! Capture the hose!” called out Flockley, but even as he spoke he took good care to get behind another sophomore.
“Capture it yourself!” growled the youth he was using as a shield.
“Say, you’re making too much noise,” whispered another student. “Do you want the proctor down on us? And turn that water off before you ruin the building. Somebody has got to pay for this, remember,” he added.
As it was an unwritten law of Brill that all hazers must pay for any damage done to college property while hazing anybody, one of the sophomores started for the lavatory where the hose had been attached to a water faucet. But while the water still ran, Tom, aided by Dick and Sam, directed the stream on the sophomores, who were forced to retreat down the hallway.
“Now rush ’em! Rush ’em!” yelled Flockley, when the water had ceased to run. “Bind and gag ’em,
and take ’em down to the gym. We can finish hazing ’em there!”
“Get into the room!” whispered Dick. “Hurry up, and barricade the door!”
“Right you are, but no more hose water for me,” answered Tom, and pulled on the rubber with all his might. It parted about half way down the hallway, and into the room he darted with the piece in his hands. Then Sam and Dick closed the door, locked it, and shoved a bed and the table against the barrier. They also turned the button of the transom window so that the glass could not be swung back as before.
“Now they can’t get in unless they break in,” said Dick grimly, “and I doubt if they’ll dare to do that.”
“Say, maybe I’m not wet,” remarked Sam, surveying his dripping shirt.
“Never mind; we sent as good as we got, and more,” answered Tom with a grin. “Let us put on our coats so we don’t catch cold. No use of putting on dry clothing until you are sure the ball is over.”
“Tom, you’re a crack fireman,” said Dick with a smile. “I’ll wager those sophs are mad enough to chew nails.”
“What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,” quoted the fun-loving Rover. “What’s the good of living if you can’t return a compliment now and then?”
For several minutes all was silent outside. Then came a light knock on the door. Dick held his hand up for silence and the knock was repeated.
“Don’t answer them,” whispered the oldest Rover.
“Say, I want to talk to you fellows,” came in low tones. “This is important.”
“Who are you?” asked Dick after a pause.
“I’m Larkspur—Bart Larkspur, I want to tell you something.”
“Well, what is it?” demanded Tom.
“Your resistance to our class won’t do you any good. If you’ll come out and take your medicine like men, all right; but if you resist it will go that much harder with you.”
“Who sent you—Frank Holden?” asked Sam.
“What has Holden to do with it?” growled Larkspur.
“We know he’s the leader of your class.”
“He is not. Dudd Flockley is our leader.”
“Then Flockley sent you, eh?” put in Dick.
The Rover Boys Megapack Page 204