He was captain of the hounds.
He had his duty to his team and his class first of all to think
about.
"Come on, hounds!" he shouted to those who had lagged at sight
of the knock-down. "One more hare in our trap---then we'll be
back here!"
What he meant by being "back here" everyone present could guess.
In fact, many wondered why there had not sooner been a fight
between the freshman and his determined sophomore enemy.
Truth to tell, Dick, after that day in the school grounds, had
been inclined to overlook the whole affair.
He was not afraid of Ripley. It was only that Dick's ordinary
good nature had triumphed. He was not a brawler, yet could stand
out for his rights when a need came.
A third of a mile further on another yell of triumph floated back
to young Prescott, who had not yet regained the lead.
In a few moments more the last of the hounds came upon a flushed,
joyous group of freshmen runners. With them were two of the judges
and a sheepish-looking hare.
The freshmen hounds had won, and had bagged all the hares for
which the game called. Let the five remaining hares keep on running
to the finish, if they would. For the first time in seven years
the freshmen hounds, led by Captain Dick Prescott, had won.
"Ki-yi-yi-yi-yi!" howled the exultant fourth classmen. "And another
for Dick Prescott."
"Dick Prescott has other game on his hands now," spoke up Dan
Dalzell, one of the late arrivals.
"What's the row?" demanded the freshman who had just bagged the
seventh hare.
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