CHAPTER VII
TOM HOLDS HIS OWN
It seemed for a moment as if the first-year boys would be quickly shoved aside and their places taken by the sophomores, for so heavy was the impact that the outer and second lines of defense were broken through and the attackers were in the midst of the defenders.
"Throw 'em back! throw 'em back!" yelled Phil Clinton. "Tackle low!"
'Think you're playing football?" panted Tom, for some of his mates had been pushed against him and he almost lost his grip on Phil's arm.
"It's like a scrimmage," replied Phil. "That's the stuff, boys!" he added as the lines of defense formed again.
The freshmen by a fierce effort succeeded in blocking the advance of their enemies, and those who had penetrated part way into the circles were hurled back. But the battle had only just begun.
Once more came the rush of sophomores, the members of the class calling to each other encouragingly. There were more of them than there
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