your uncle, your uncle, ever since you came here. Give us something new."
"That's all right, Fred Langridge, but my uncle"
There you go again!" interrupted Fred. "I guess I know what the custom is, as well as your uncle. He hasn't been here in fifteen years."
"I know that, but he says"
"Say, if you speak uncle again, I'll land you one on the jaw, and that'll keep you quiet for a while." The words, in spite of their aggressiveness, were good-natured enough, and were spoken with a smile. Ford Fenton, who seldom took part in any conversation about college sports or frolics without mentioning his relative, who had been a well-known coach at Randall, looked first surprised, then hurt, but as he saw that the sympathies of his companion freshmen were with Langridge, he concluded to make the best of it.
"I guess I know what the customs are here," repeated the well-dressed lad. "Didn't I get turned down at the exams, and ain't I putting in my second year as freshman? I helped get the clapper last year, and I'll help again this term. But I know one thing, Fenton, and that's not two."
"What's that?" eagerly asked the youth who had boasted of his uncle.
"That's this: You may not get the clapper, but you'll get something else."
