"Your class, Ripley, will be sore enough, anyway, over losing the paper chase for the first time that any of us can remember.

Now, for a soph to be thrashed, in three rounds, by a little freshman-----" Butler didn't finish, but, turning on his heel, walked over to join the rest.
There were two sophomores there who had come over at the end of the paper chase, but neither went to the assistance of his defeated classman.

Ripley, alone, got his sweater back over his head.
The crowd was around Dick Prescott, who felt almost ashamed of the fight, unavoidable as he knew it to have been.
When he had finished getting his clothes on, Ripley stalked moodily past the main group.
"You mucker," he hissed, "I suppose you feel swelled up over having had a chance to fight gentleman.

You-----" "Oh, Ripley, dry up---do!" interjected Ted Butler.

"You call yourself a gentleman, but you talk and act more like well, more like a pup with the mange!" "A pup with the mange! Great!" came the gleeful chorus from a half score of freshmen.
"I'm not through with you, yet, Prescott!" Fred Ripley called back over his shoulder.