"Didn't know a thing. Well, no sooner did the sophs spot him than they set up a yell: "'Who are you?' "'Tom Regan.' "'What's your class?' "'Freshman.' "'What in the blankety-blank are you doing here?' "'Lookin' on.' "With that, of course, they began just leaping up and down for joy, hugging one another; and a couple of them started in to tackle the old locomotive. The fellow, who's as strong as an ox, just gives a cough and a sneeze, scatters a few little sophs on the floor, and in a twinkling is in the corner, barricaded behind a table, looking as big as a house. "'Tom, look out; they're going to shampoo you,' says I. "'Is it all right?' he says, with a grin. "'It's etiquette,' says I. "'Come on, then,' says he very affably, and he strips off his coat and tosses it across the room, saying, 'It's my only one; look out for it.' "Well, when the sophs saw him standing there, licking his chops, arms as big as hams, they sort of stopped and scratched their heads." "I bet they did!" cried a couple. "They didn't particularly like the prospect; but they were game, especially a little bantam of a rooster called Waring, who'd been putting us through our stunts. "'I'm going in after that bug myself,' said he, with a yelp. 'Come on!'" "Well, what happened, Buck?" "Did they give it to him?" "About fifteen minutes after the bouncers had swept us into the street with the rest of the _débris_, as the French say," said the speaker, with a far-off, reflective look, "one dozen of the happiest-looking sophs you ever saw went reeling back to the campus. They were torn and scratched, pummeled, bruised and bleeding, soaked from head to foot, shot to pieces, smeared with paint, not a button left or a necktie--but they were happy!" "Why happy?" "They had given _Regan_ the shampoo." Stover and McCarthy rose and made their way out past the group where Buck Waters, enthroned already as a natural leader, was tuning up the crowd. "I came up in the train with Regan," said Stover, thrilling a little at the recital. "Cracky! I wish I'd seen the scrap." "We'll call him out to-night for the wrestling," said McCarthy. "He's a queer, plunging sort of animal," said Stover reflectively. "I wonder if he'll ever do anything up here?" Saunders, riding past on a bicycle, pad protruding from his pocket, slowed up with a cordial hail: "Howdy! I'm heeling the _News_. If you get any stories, pass them on to me. Thought you fellows were down at our joint. Where the deuce are you fellows grubbing?" "We dropped into a place one of your Andover crowd's runnin'." "Who's that?" "Fellow called Gimbel." Saunders rode on a bit, wheeled, came slowly back, resting his hand on Stover's shoulder. "Look here," he said, frowning a little. "Gimbel's a good sort, clever and all that; but look here--you're not decided, are you?" "No."