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Frank Merriwell at Yale, a fiction by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 13. Jubilant Freshmen |
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_ CHAPTER XIII. JUBILANT FRESHMEN Spat! Merriwell staggered. "Down you go!" Browning followed the freshman closely, launching out again, with the full expectation that the second blow would be a settler. Frank had been taken slightly off his guard, so that he had failed in getting away from the first blow, but he skillfully ducked the second, countering as the king's fist passed over his shoulder. Browning reeled backward, having received a terrific crack on the ear. If Frank had not been slightly dazed he might have followed the sophomore closely, but he was a bit slow in getting after Bruce. For a few seconds the boys gave an exhibition of scientific sparring which would have proved very interesting to their comrades if all had not been too busy to watch them. Frank Merriwell contiuued to laugh, and it had been said at Yale that he was most dangerous in an encounter when he laughed. "You came near doing it, Browning," he admitted, "but it was rather tricky on your part. I wasn't looking for a fight." "You will get many things you are not looking for before you have been at Yale much longer," returned the king. "Think so?" "Dead sure." The two lads seemed to be very evenly matched, save that Merriwell was the more catlike on his feet. Browning was solid, and it took a terrific blow to stagger him. Merriwell was plainly the more scientific. He could get in and away from his foe in a most successful manner, but he saw that in the confined limits of a ring Browning's rush would be difficult to escape. What the result of this encounter might have been cannot be told, for two freshmen suddenly appeared and gave the alarm that at least a hundred sophomores were coming in a body to aid their comrades. A moment later the sophs appeared, hurrying along the street toward the scene of the encounter. "'Umpty-seven! 'Umpty-seven! Rah! rah! 'rah!" Then the signal was given for the freshmen to break away and take to flight, which they promptly did. "Oh, soph--oh, my poor soph!" cried many taunting voices. "Good-evening, gentlemen!" called Bandy Robinson. "Shall I toss you down soap and towels?" "Say, fellows," cried Lucy Little, "don't you think it is rather warm out this evening?" "Hello! hello!" shouted Rattleton. "Has it been raining, or did we have a small shower?" Then Merriwell's beautiful baritone voice pitched the chorus of a familiar negro melody, in which the triumphant and delighted freshmen joined:
"Is--er--King Browning present?" yelled a freshman, leaning out of a window. "If so, I'd like to inquire if he means to attend the party this evening." "If he does," said another freshman, "he will be able to obtain a dress suit down at Cohen's, price 'von tollar ber efenin' to shentlemen.'" "Oh, you wait till we get at you fresh ducks!" shouted back an angry sophomore. "We'll make you sweat for this!" "Go on! you're only fooling!" sang the freshmen. "We'll show you we're not fooling!" excitedly declared Punch Swallow. "We'll scalp a few of you!" "Ah!" cried Bandy Robinson. "He is a bad man! Methinks I can detect his cloven foot." "You're wrong," laughed Merriwell. "But you may have been near enough at some time to detect his cloven breath!" The three freshmen who were leaning out of one of the upper windows repeated in chorus:
"Say, Swallows, give us a lock of your hair. It'll save the expense of gas in my room." "I'd like a lock of it, too," declared another. "I'm troubled with rats, and I haven't any paris green handy." "Oh, rats!" yelled twenty voices. "Hello, Parker!" cried Little. "I hear you were held up last night? Is it true?" "Oh, yes," said Rattleton. "He'd been down to Morey's, and that was the way he got home." "But oh, what a difference in the morning," sang the freshmen. "Ask Rattleton if he means to join the Indians?" called a soph. "Or will he Sioux for damages?" put in another. "Oh, say!" groaned Dismal Jones. "That's the worst I ever heard! It's enough to give one heart failure!" "Come out and fight! Come out and fight!" urged the sophomores. "You don't dare to come out and fight!" "You will have to excuse us this evening, gentlemen," said Merriwell, suavely. "We have done our best to entertain you, and we will see you again at some other date." "You are certain to see me again," assented Browning. "You ran away, or we would have settled matters between us this evening. As it is, I am going to watch my opportunity to do you fairly and squarely. When I am done with you one of us will be beautifully licked." "And that one will not be King Bruce," declared Andy Emery. "Say! say! say!" spluttered Rattleton. "I'll go you a shot that it is! I'll stand you a supper for twenty at any place you'll name that Merriwell knocks the everlasting stuffing out of Browning." "Done!" returned Emery. "You name plime and tace--I mean time and place, and we'll be there, you bet!" declared Harry. "All we want is a fair deal." "You'll get that," assured Browning. "This little affair shall be arranged very soon." "The sooner the better. Don't delay on our account." The sophomores, seeing it was useless to linger there and be taunted by the freshmen, began to stroll away one by one. Up in Merriwell's room Rattleton got down his banjo and began to put it in tune. A merry party gathered there. One of the strings snapped, and as he was putting on another Harry fell to laughing. "What are you laughing at?" asked Bandy Robinson. "Down at the table to-night," explained Harry, "Merriwell was poking his finger into the butter. I asked him what he was doing that for, and he said he was only feeling its muscle." The boys who dined in the house appreciated that, and there was a general laugh. Then Harry adjusted the string and placed the banjo in tune. Pretty soon the boys were singing "Bingo," "Upidee," "Nellie Was a Lady," and other college songs. Every one of them seemed familiar with "Paddy Duffy's Cart" and its pretty chorus:
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