"That's all right," whispered one of the juniors as he helped him off with his sweater. "You go in and win this cane, and your class will give you anything you want. Keep cool now, and remember what you have learned." The farmer's big deformity-like shoulders looked more huge than ever in the thin, white jersey as he now straightened up in the moonlight. "'Ray! 'Ray! 'Ray! Tiger, Siss, Boom, Ah! Hill." It rang out sharply on the frosty air. Then came a long cheer and then more short ones, with "Hill" on the end of them. There is a peculiar thrill at the sound of one's own name shouted by a hundred voices on the end of a cheer. Hill felt it. He liked the feeling. "Now that means me," he said to himself, and he recalled what Drake had said to the middle weight: "Now remember, your whole class is watching you." It was in that moment that Hill caught class spirit. The heavy weight spree was usually the shortest and most exciting contest of the evening. Everyone eagerly pressed forward on the wet grass. The sophomores were barking and guying and quacking exultingly. The freshmen were cheering hard. "Get ready, boys," said Jim, the athletic trainer, acting as referee. He held out the stick. The sophomore ran out briskly. Hill spat on his hands and took his time about it. They grasped the cane. "Down in front, _please_!" a voice pleaded. The cheering had ceased as suddenly as you turn off the gas. Hill was cool. He looked about at the theatre of faces on all sides. Just over the sophomore's shoulder, down on the ground with moonlight on his face, he spied an important-looking senior, with glasses, who on the campus had always seemed oblivious to the existence of freshmen. He was rocking back and forth and chewing a cold cigar to bits. "Are you ready, Hill?" The freshman spread his legs apart and said, "Yep." "Ready, Parker?" "Yes." A ghastly silent second. "Spree!" As the referee spoke the word, Hill felt the sophomore drop. He knew what was coming. Over his opponent's head he went sprawling on the grass, as he expected. But just then, in some manner, quick as a flash, Parker doubled and threw both legs in between Hill's body and the cane, and began, with all his strength, to strain, and push, and wrench. Hill had expected something, and thought he was guarding against it. But this was a new trick--a variation on the old one--which the sophomore had invented himself. Now, if it had been an ordinary man, with ordinary Christian shoulders, the strain would have been too great, and the sophomore would have won the cane in ten seconds, as he counted on doing. But you see Hill was somewhat deformed as to his shoulders. He grunted and clung on, and the sophomore's coachers were yelling fiendishly: "You've got him, Park! you've got him!"