was heard on the door of the room occupied by Sid and Tom.
"Come," called Sid, looking up from his Latin book.
"Pole rush to-night!" cried Dutch Housenlager, poking his head in and rapidly withdrawing it, as though he feared a book would be hurled at him. "Meet on the campus at eight o'clock. Old clothes—it's going to be a hard fight."
"That's the stuff!" exclaimed Sid, throwing his book across the room. "Come on, Tom. We'll have a battle royal with our traditional enemies, the sophs."
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
