The pole rush was like the cane or cannon rushes held in other colleges. Half a dozen of the strongest of the freshmen formed a circle, with linked arms about the big flag pole on the campus. About them in concentric circles their chums formed a series of defensive rings. Then the sophomores came at them with a rush, seeking to displace the first-year lads and arrange themselves in a circle about the pole. If they succeeded in doing this inside of fifteen minutes it meant that the freshmen could wear no college colors their first term. It was to this rush that Tom, Sid and their friends hurried when Dutch and some others went about to the various rooms sounding the rallying cry. Out on the campus that soft spring evening was a motley crowd of students. On one side were gathered the sophomores and on the other the freshmen. "My, there are a lot of 'em," remarked Phil Clinton. "I shouldn't wonder but they've rung in some seniors on us." "No, they wouldn't do that," declared Sid. "They're a big class." Langridge and some others were going about selecting the men who were to form the first circle about the pole. Tom and Phil, who were both sturdy lads, were chosen for this honor. "In place! in place!" cried the impatient sophomores. "Line up! line up, fellows!" shouted Langridge. Tom and his chums took their positions. The protectors formed about them. "Hold fast, everybody!" cautioned Phil as he grasped Tom's arm. "Here they come! here they come!" was the warning cry, and with a rush the sophomores hurled themselves against the mass of lads about the pole. CHAPTER VII TOM HOLDS HIS OWN It seemed for a moment as if the first-year boys would be quickly shoved aside and their places taken by the sophomores, for so heavy was the impact that the outer and second lines of defense were broken through and the attackers were in the midst of the defenders. "Throw 'em back! throw 'em back!" yelled Phil Clinton. "Tackle low!" "Think you're playing football?" panted Tom, for some of his mates had been pushed against him and he almost lost his grip on Phil's arm. "It's like a scrimmage," replied Phil. "That's the stuff, boys!" he added as the lines of defense formed again. The freshmen by a fierce effort succeeded in blocking the advance of their enemies, and those who had penetrated part way into the circles were hurled back. But the battle had only just begun. Once more came the rush of sophomores, the members of the class calling to each other encouragingly. There were more of them than there were of freshmen, but the latter had the advantage of a firm base of support, for the lads nearest the pole clung to that and those adjoining them locked their arms or legs about those of their comrades, thus forming a compact mass. "Pick 'em off one by one!" yelled Gladdus, one of the leading sophomores. "Bore a way in there, Fenmore, and some of you fellows. We ought to get them away."