Stover found himself, arms locked over one another's shoulders, between Schley, who had somehow kept persistently near him, and a powerful, smiling, blond-haired fellow who shouted to him: "My name's Hungerford--Joe Hungerford. Glad to know you. Down from Groton." It was a name known across the world for power in finance, and the arm about Stover's shoulder was taut with the same sentimental rush of emotion. Down the moving line suddenly came surging the chant: "_Chi Rho Omega Lambda Chi!_ _We meet to-night to celebrate_ _The Omega Lambda Chi!_" Grotesquely, lumberingly, tripping and confused, they tried to imitate the forward classes, who were surging in the billowy rhythm of the elusive serpentine dance. "How the deuce do they do it?" "Get a skip to it, you ice-wagons." "All to the left, now." "No, to the right." Gradually they found themselves; hoarse, laughing, struggling, sweeping inconsequentially on behind the singing, cheering college. Before Dink knew it, the line had broken with a rush, and he was carried, struggling and pushing, into a vacant lot, where all at once, out of the tumult and the riot, a circle opened and spread under his eyes. Seniors in varsity sweaters, with brief authoritative gestures, forced back the crowd, stationed the fretful lights, commanding and directing: "First row, sit down." "Down in front, there." "Kneel behind." "Freshmen over here." "Get a move on!" "Stop that shoving." "How's the space, Cap?" In the center, Captain Dana waited with an appraising eye. "All right. Call out the lightweights." Almost immediately, from the opposite sophomores, came a unanimous shout: "Farquahar! Dick Farquahar!" "Come on, Dick!" "Get in the ring!" Out into the ring stepped an agile, nervous figure, acclaimed by all his class. "A cheer for Farquahar, fellows!" "One, two, three!" "_Farquahar!_" "Candidate from the freshman class!" "Candidate!" "Robinson!" "Teddy Robinson!" "Harris!" "No, Robinson--Robinson!" Gimbel's voice dominated the outcry. There was a surging, and then a splitting of the crowd, and Robinson was slung into the ring. In the midst of contending cheers, the antagonists stripped to the belt and stood forth to shake hands, their bared torsos shining in high lights against the mingled shadows of the audience. The two, equally matched in skill, went tumbling and whirling over the matted sod, twisting and flopping, until by a sudden hold Robinson caught his adversary in a half nelson and for the brief part of a second had the two shoulders touching the ground. The second round likewise went to the freshman, who was triumphant after a struggle of twenty minutes. "Middleweights!" "Candidate from the sophomore class!" "Candidate from the freshman!" "Fisher!" "Denny Fisher!" The sophomore stepped forth, tall, angular, well knit. Among the freshmen a division of opinion arose: "Say, Andover, who've you got?" "Any one from Hotchkiss?"