"That's all right, it may be; but I like to see a fair fight!" went on Phil Clinton. "I could have tackled Morse alone, and he's bigger than I am."
"Maybe you could, but you'd have the whole sophomore class down on us if you did, and you know what that means. No, let it go. Fenton brought it on himself by wearing the band."
"I wish they'd tackled me," murmured the sturdy Clinton.
"I wish they had," echoed Fenton. "Look at my hat."
'That's all right, my uncle says I can have a new one!" piped up a shrill voice, in imitation of Fenton's usual tones.
"Holly Cross, or I'm a Dutchman!" exclaimed Langridge, turning quickly to glance at a newcomer, who had joined the ranks of the freshmen. "Where've you been, Holly?"
"Down by the boathouse, watching the crew practice. I'll give you an imitation of Billy Housenlager pulling," and Holly, or Holman, Cross, began a pretense of rowing in grotesque style.
"That's Dutch all over," admitted Langridge. "He goes at it like a house and lot."
"What's up?" demanded Holly, for he had seen from afar the little rumpus. "Has 'my uncle' been cutting up?" and he winked at Fenton.
"That's all right," began the aggrieved one, who did not seem to know when he was being
