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Welborn spoke for the first time as he and Larry were hurling themselves over the fence. “B-better get some more of the fe-fellows!” he gasped. “There are too many of ’m for just us two!” But Larry acted as if he hadn’t heard. “Come on!” he said; and, two to six, they went in.

It was a warm little tussle for a few minutes, with most of the rules eliminated. Like Larry, Welborn had played foot-ball; and, again like Larry, he had the weight. Bucking the dancing ring as one man, they broke the line; and another tackling rush dissipated it.

Back in their room, Larry once more planted himself before his book, but as he opened it, he said to Dick, without looking up: “You may count me in on that bridge business, if you like. I don’t ‘savvy’ that sort of thing, as you know; but those fellows need a lesson—and they’re going to get it. No; don’t make any mistake,” he went on, as Dick was about to offer congratulations. “I haven’t any ‘class spirit’ or ‘college spirit,’ or whatever you call it. But when they hit you, they hit me; that’s all.”