But it was too late. The rumbling was heard again, and from an unexpected direction, and before the huddling Freshmen could even get started, a compact mass of Sophomores came pounding down upon them, ploughed through them, knocked some of them over and came out solid on the other side. Then there was great shouting among the Sophomores, with much blatant, exultant cheering. Meanwhile the rallying cry of "Ninety-blank this way!" began ringing out again. It was over by the quadrangle and now the scattered Freshmen were scurrying over toward the sound of it. "Ninety-blank?" shouted a boyish voice in Young's ear not two feet away from it. "Yes," said Young, excitedly, and took the owner of it by the arm and hurried along through the crowd toward their comrades. Just then an unseen hand made a grab at Young's hat--off it went; and the grabber dodged out of sight in the crowd and darkness. "There goes my hat," said Young. "Mine went long ago," said his new-found comrade, meaning ten seconds before. He was a little fellow and seemed very young. "We oughtn't to have taken them out of our pockets." He was laughing excitedly as he ran along. They hurried into line with the others by West College. A Junior dressed in a conspicuous white flannel suit came running over, shouting, "The Sophs are just beginning to form over there by the cannon. Hurry and you can get them on the flank." "All right," cried Jack Stehman, "come on, fellows. Never mind weights and sizes. Now do something, do something for your class." "Come on," called another, "this time we get the cannon!" Without waiting for all the class to collect, or for perfect formation, the Freshman column dashed down at the thick of the Sophomores who now stopped giving "This-way" shouts and started forward to meet their opponents. They knew that to be caught napping meant to be rushed, and then the Freshmen would gain the coveted cannon. Again the two columns met like two big waves, and like spray the front lines were dashed on high. Young was up there this time, literally face to face with the Sophomores. He could see them straining and grunting and pushing like himself. The little fellow that had fallen in rank beside him was up there too, being tossed about like a cork. The Sophomores were only half prepared for the attack, and were being charged back; Young felt them giving way before him. It felt good. "Hold them, hold them, fellows!" shouted the Seniors, and some of them pitched in to help their allies, the Sophomores. But they could not hold them, and the little fellow beside Young began screaming, "We're rushing 'em! we're rushing the Sophs," in the Sophomores' very faces. A big Sophomore in the front rank got one arm free, reached up and struck the little fellow in the face, then got hold of his coat and began to jerk the little one down.