"For the love of Mike! Listen to him!" gasped Morse. "Grab him, Denfield! Wow! But things are coming to a pretty pass when a fresh talks like that the first week. Look out now, youngster, you're going to get a little lesson in how to behave to your betters." The two sophomores reached out their hands to grab Fenton. He made a spring to get behind a protecting wall of his comrades, and for a moment it looked as if the second year lads would be bested, for there were at least fifteen freshmen. But Langridge knew better than to let his friends get into trouble that way. "Let 'em have him," he advised in a low voice. "It's the custom, and he knew it. He deserves it all." Thereupon the freshmen divided, and offered no opposition to the twain, who gathered in their man. Morse snatched off the hat with the offending band, and, while Denfield held the struggling Fenton, ripped off the ribbon. Then with his knife Morse began cutting the hat to pieces. "Here, quit that!" yelled Fenton. "That's a new hat!" "Softly, softly, little one," counseled Denfield. "I pray thee speak softly." Though Fenton struggled to escape, the other easily held him, and the freshman was forced to witness the destruction of his nice, new soft hat. Having thus, as he believed, wiped out the insult offered, Morse carefully folded the ribbon and placed it in his pocket. "Maybe you'll get a chance to wear it--after the pole rush," he said calmly. "I don't believe you will, for we're going to wipe up the ground with you freshmen this term. But if you do, I'll give you back your ribbon--er--what's your name, freshman?" "Fenton," answered the humiliated one. "Fenton what?" "Ford Fenton." "Say 'Fenton, sir,'" counseled Langridge in the other's ear. "Don't you know how to reply to a gentleman?" asked Denfield fiercely, shaking Fenton from a neckhold he had. "Say sir, when you speak to a soph." "Sir!" cried Fenton, for the grip hurt him. "That's better. Now remember, no more ribbons until after the pole rush, and maybe not then. This to all you freshies," added Morse. "Oh, we know that," put in Langridge. "But we'll all be wearing them after next week, and we'll be wearing something else, too." "Nixy on the clapper, old chap!" called Denfield. "We won't stand for that." "We'll see," responded Langridge. "All is not gold that doesn't come out in the wash." "Ha! He speaks in parables!" cried Morse. "Well done, old chap! But come on, Denfield. I've got a date." The youth holding Fenton gave him a sudden turn and twist that sent him spinning to the ground, and as he picked himself up the two sophomores walked off, as dignified as senators. "Confound them!" muttered Fenton as he brushed the dust off his clothes. "I've a good mind to----" "Easy, now," advised Langridge. "They're sophs, you know. Go easy!"