in.

All at once the transom swung violently and the wolfish faces of
Tough McCarty, the White Mountain Canary, Cheyenne and the
Coffee-colored Angel crowded the opening.

"Get back or I'll kill you," said Dink in frantic fear, and,
advancing, he swung the chair murderously. In a twinkling the transom
was emptied.

The storm of voices rose again.

"The freshest yet!"

"The nerve of him!"

"Let's break in the door!"

"Come out!"

"Come out, Freshman!"

"He did it on purpose!"

"He chucked the game!"

"Wait till I get my hands on him!"

"I'll skin him!"

All at once the face of Butsey White appeared at the transom.

"Dink, you let me right in, you hear?"

No answer.

"You let me in right off!"

Still no answer.

"It's my room; you let me in to my room, do you hear?"

Stover continued silent.

"Dink," said Butsey in his loudest tones, "I'm coming right over the
transom. Don't you dare to touch me!"

Stover again seized the chair.

Butsey White, supported from behind, carefully drew up one foot, and
then convulsively disappeared as Stover charged with the chair.

There was a whispered consultation and then the battling face of Tough
McCarty appeared with a new threat:

"You lay a hand on me and I'll rip the hide off you!"

"Keep back!" said Stover hoarsely.

"Put down that chair, you little varmint; do you hear me?"

"Don't you come over!"

"Yes, I'm coming over, and you don't dare to touch me. You don't----"

Stover was neither a coward nor a hero; he was simply in a panic and
he was cornered. He rushed wildly to the breach and delivered the
chair with a crash, Tough McCarty barely saving himself.

This open defiance of the champion angered the attacking party.

"He ought to be lynched!"

"The booby!"

"Wait till to-morrow!"

Tough McCarty reappeared for a brief second.

"I'll get you yet," he said, pointing a finger at the embattled
Stover. "You're a muff, a low-down muff, in every sense of the
word!"

Then succeeded the Coffee-colored Angel:

"Wait till I catch you, you Rinky Dink!"

Followed the White Mountain Canary:

"You'll reckon with _me_ for this!"

Down to Beekstein Hall, with his black-rimmed spectacles, each member
of the outraged nine climbed to the transom and expressed his
unflattering opinion.

Stover sat down, his chin in his hands, his eyes on the great,
lumbering mitt that lay dishonored on the floor.

"I'm disgraced," he said slowly, "disgrac