Baseball Joe at Yale Part 15

"What for?"

"It's going to be a wild night from the way it's begun. Let's see some of the fun. No use trying to study, I'm too excited."

"I'm excited too. But if we go out they may pitch onto us again."

"No, we can claim immunity. I want to see some of the other fellows get theirs. We'll get Ricky and the other bunch and have some fun."

"All right; I'm with you."

They dressed, and, having made their room somewhat presentable, they called for Ricky. He was busy trying to get rid of his shampoo, which had been unusually severe. He readily fell in with the notion of going out, and with Hank h.e.l.ler and Slim Jones in the party the five set out.

They swung out into Wall street, up College, and cut over Elm street to the New Haven Green, where they knew all sorts of tricks would be going on. For the Soph.o.m.ores had started their hazing in earnest.

It was indeed a wild night. The streets about the college buildings were thronged with students, and yells and cla.s.s-rallying cries were heard on every side.

"Let's go over to High street," proposed Joe, and they ran up Temple, to Chapel, and thence over to High, making their way through throngs.

Several times they were halted by groups of Soph.o.m.ores, with commands to do some absurdity, but an a.s.sertion that they had been shampooed, with the particulars, and the evidence yet remaining in spots, was enough to cause them to be pa.s.sed.

High street was filled with even a greater crowd as they reached it, a party of Freshman pouring out from the college campus endeavoring to escape from pursuing enemies.

Through Library street to York they went, with shouts, yells and noises of rattles and other sound-producing instruments.

"Let's follow and see what happens," proposed Ricky. "I want to see some other fellow get his as long as I had mine."

Just then Joe saw several figures come quietly out from behind a building and start up York street, in an opposite direction from that taken by the throng. Under the glare of an electric light he recognized Weston and some of the crowd who had shampooed them. Some sudden whim caused Joe to say:

"There's the fellows who shampooed us. Let's follow and maybe we can get back at 'em. There are only five--that's one apiece."

"Right you are!" sang out Ricky. "I want to punch someone."

"Come on then," signalled Spike. "I'm out for the night. It's going to be a wild one all right."

And truly it seemed so.

CHAPTER XI

THE RED PAINT

Pursuing those who had given them the shampoo, Joe and his chums found themselves trailing down a side street in the darkness.

"I wonder what they're up to," ventured Spike.

"Oh, some more monkey business," declared Ricky. "If they try it on any more Freshmen though, we'll take a hand ourselves; eh?"

"Sure," a.s.sented the others.

"There they go--around the corner--and on the run!" suddenly exclaimed Slim Jones. "Get a move on!"

Our friends broke into a trot--that is, all but Joe. He tried to, but stepping on a stone it rolled over with him, and he felt a severe pain shoot through his ankle.

"Sprained, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "I'm glad it isn't the baseball season, for I'm going to be laid up."

He halted, and in those few seconds his companions, eager in the chase, drew ahead of him in the darkness, and disappeared around another corner.

"I can't catch up to 'em," decided Joe. "Wonder if I can step on the foot?"

He tried his weight on it, and to his delight found that it was not a bad sprain, rather a severe wrench that, while it lamed him, still allowed him to walk.

"Guess I'll go back," he murmured. "If there's a row I can't hold up my end, and there's no use being a handicap. I'll go back and turn in. I can explain later."

He turned about, walking slowly, the pain seeming to increase rather than diminish, and he realized that he was in for a bad time.

"If I could see a hack I'd hail it," he thought, but the streets seemed deserted, no public vehicles being in sight. "I've got to tramp it out,"

Joe went on. "Well, I can take it slow."

His progress brought him to Wall street, and he decided to continue along that to Temple, and thence to the modest side-thoroughfare on which the Red Shack was located. But he was not destined to reach it without further adventures.

As he came around a corner he heard the murmur of low voices, and, being cautious by nature, he halted to take an observation.

"If it's my own crowd--all right," he said. "But if it's a lot of Sophs., I don't want to run into 'em."

He listened, and from among those whom he could not see he heard the murmur of voices.

"That's the house over there," said someone.

"Right! Now we'll see if he'll double on me just because I wasn't prepared. I'll make him walk Spanish!"

"Got plenty of the magoozilum?"

"Sure. We'll daub it on thick."

"They can't be after Freshmen," mused Joe. "I wonder what's up?"

He looked across the street in the direction where, evidently, the unseen ones were directing their attention.

"A lot of the profs. live there," mused Joe. "I have it! Some one's going to play a trick on 'em to get even. I'll just pipe it off!"

He had not long to wait. Out of the shadows stole two figures, and, even in the dimness he recognized one of them as Ford Weston. The other he did not know.

"Come on!" hoa.r.s.ely whispered the 'varsity pitcher to his chum. "I'll spread it on thick and then we'll cut for it. Separate streets. I'll see you in the morning, but keep mum, whatever happens."

The two figures ran silently across the street, and paused in front of a detached house. One seemed to be actively engaged at the steps for a few minutes, and then both quickly ran off again, the two separating and diving down side streets.

"Huh! Whatever it was didn't take them long," thought Joe. "I wonder what it was? Guess I'll----"