Will Phelps and Foster Bennett almost unconsciously moved with the throng though they were not fully aware of the cause of the sudden interest of the students.  “It may be that he’s the captain of the football team,” said Will in a low voice to his companion.  “At any rate the captain’s name is Baker and probably this is the man.”

Foster nodded his head but made no other reply as he stood watching the young man as he stepped down from the platform.  There could be no question as to who he was, for the conquering hero was writ large upon his powerful frame and the universal deference of the student body could be accounted for only by the fact that a leader in Winthrop had arrived.

“Look there, Will,” said Foster suddenly.  “There’s Peter John.”

“Where?”

“Right behind Baker.  Just coming out of the door.  See him?”

“Yes,” responded Will as he obtained a glimpse of his classmate just as he was emerging from the doorway.  Travel-stained, his hat pushed back on his head, his eyes wildly staring about at the crowd, a huge carpet-bag in his hand, his appearance certainly would have attracted the attention of the spectators had it not been that their interest was apparently centered in the mighty captain of the football team and they had no thought for any one else.

Just as Baker stepped down, Peter John emerged from the car directly behind the captain, and a cheer louder than any that before had been given rose from the assembly.

Poor Peter John!  Nervous and excited, conscious only of himself and his strange surroundings, the startled freshman had no other thought than that the cheers were meant for him and doubtless were intended as a war cry from those enemies of whom he had heard such marvelous tales—­the sophomores.  Wild-eyed, for a moment he seemed to be well-nigh paralyzed.  He stood motionless and gazed out at the surging mass of students almost as if he were minded to turn back into the car and escape from the threatening peril.  But the pressure from behind was too strong to permit him to carry out his intention and he was compelled to move forward.  As yet he had not seen his two waiting friends and his feeling of utter loneliness swept over him afresh.  From the lowest step he was about to move when another mighty shout went up from the assembly and Peter John looked helplessly about him as if he were convinced that his doom was sealed and for him there was to be no escape.

Suddenly he darted from the midst of the crowd, sending two or three young men who chanced to be in his way sprawling, and with his quaint carpet-bag still tightly grasped in his hand fled directly back over the railway ties.  He had not gone far before his flight was perceived and a shout of laughter and derision arose.  Even the mighty Baker was ignored in the fresh excitement and instantly a crowd of students started in pursuit of the fleeing freshman.