"I'm off for New Haven to-morrow," Rattleton announced as he dropped into Holworthy's room, where several of the "gang" were sitting. "Going to sojourn two days in the Land of Eli."

"You are, eh?" said Burleigh. "Well, you'll have a rattling good time down there."

"A 'smooth' time, you mean," corrected Rattleton. "Don't you know how to talk Elic yet?"

"I beg pardon," said Burleigh. "When you get back I suppose you will refer to the Porc as your 'spot,' and if any of us who are not members asks you anything about it you will cut him dead."

"Don't make any breaks down there about queer pins and extraordinary buildings," said Stoughton.

"They are funny about those things, aren't they?" replied Rattleton. "But I have no doubt they can laugh just as much at us about lots of things."

"Of course they can," asserted Holworthy. "Vide the Dickey. That institution is quite as absurd as anything they do down there."

"Nonsense, Hol," protested Stoughton; "whoever thinks up here of taking the Dickey seriously,—except, perhaps, a few Sophomores who are fools and snobs enough to be either cocky about getting on it or sore about being left off. And as for awe and reverence, if there is any such feeling at all towards the Dickey, it is confined to less than a tenth of the Freshman class. What Senior ever cares two snaps about it one way or the other?"

"That may be known well enough to us," answered Holworthy, "but what does an outsider think when he sees Harvard men making such asses of themselves, as those do who are running for the Dickey. Don't you suppose it looks pretty childish."

"For instance," asked Hudson, "if he saw a handsome and accomplished gentleman holding a horse and dog-cart—as I did for you—while a low-down mucker goes in to call on the handsome gentleman's best girl—as you did for me?"

"That was good for you," laughed Holworthy.

"Or if he saw as I did," added Burleigh, "a dignified swell, named Hollis Holworthy, kissing all the babies he met on the street."

"Or a large and portly person," rejoined Hollis, "lying on his back in the public square at Concord, and telling sympathetic citizens that he was pierced by a British musket-ball. And then running in the dead of night from Concord to Lexington, dressed in a continental uniform, banging on the door of every farm-house with the butt of a musket until he brought out the alarmed householder and told him that the regulars were coming."

"Who made me do it?" retorted Burleigh.

"I acknowledge I had a hand in it," answered Holworthy. "I am confessing, not defending. De gustibus Sophomoris non est disputandum. But that is no excuse. At Yale they don't disgrace their college that way at any rate."

"They may have a lot of poppycock about their mysterious societies that seems ridiculous to us," said Rattleton, "but they don't trouble anybody else with it. Any way, they are good fellows, and they always give you a royal time when you visit down there."

"Yes, they do, my child," Burleigh assented in a serious tone. "Remember that you represent the dignity of the 'Oldest and Greatest.' Take care that they do not make a painful exhibition of our boy."

"Ned knows," chuckled Hudson. "No one has ever been able to find out exactly what happened to him when he stayed down there after the ball-game last year. He came back, looking like the last hours of an ill-spent life, with a confused story about some Yale beverage named 'Velvet' and a wonderful loving cup with no bottom, and a great many handles."

"Hush your idle scandal," said Burleigh. "Who are you going to stay with, Jack?"

"A first-rate fellow named Sheffield," answered Rattleton.

"What!" exclaimed Hudson, "Joe Sheffield?"

"Yes, do you know him?"

"Wow!" yelled Stoughton. "Does Steve know him! Mr. Hudson, do you know Mr. Sheffield?"

"Shut up, Dick," said Hudson; "you promised not to tell that."

"I never promised anything of the kind," declared Dick. "I had almost forgotten it, but I am glad I am reminded. All your friends ought to know about it, Steve. I am sure they would be pleased."

"Hold on!" said Hudson, "if that yarn is going to be told, I prefer to tell it myself. There is no sting in a clean breast."

"Go ahead then," said Stoughton. "I'll see that you tell it straight. Tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"It was down at Bar Harbor, last summer," Hudson began. "I was spending two weeks with this man, Stoughton, who lives there in summer. Next to his place there was, er—there was—er——"

"A girl," interjected Dick, putting in the spur.

"Yes, there was, and an awfully pretty one, too," declared Hudson, defiantly. "If you will kindly refrain from interrupting, I can do this thing myself. What I was going to say was this: alongside of Dick's place, there was another place, and a most attractive one. There was a beautiful view from the piazza of this house——"

"On the piazza," corrected Stoughton.

"Who is telling this story?" demanded Hudson. "Shut up and let me tell it my own way. I used to go over to look at this view every day," he continued; "so did this Yale man, Joe Sheffield. I used to know Joe at St. Mark's, and liked him very well, but it was rather a nuisance to see him at that house so much. Really he overdid it; why, I used to find him every time I went there. Finally I made up my mind that the duel was on, and I'd see who was the better man. Of course this was purely in a sporting spirit, you understand; I only felt it my duty to beat Yale, that was all."

"Careful, careful," murmured Dick, warningly. "Remember,—the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"At first I tried sitting him out by fair means," Hudson went on, paying no attention to Stoughton's side remark; "but the persistent bore outsat me every time. He'd let me set the pace and do all the talking, and then come in with a fresh wind on the finish and do me up. But early in the struggle a powerful ally presented himself, the girl's small brother, Freddy. He asked me one day why Sheffield wore that funny little pin all the time. I have forgotten now which pin it was; but it was the symbol of some particularly 'smooth' and secret band of brothers, and of course Sheffield was never without it. I had been yearning to jab him on his pin; but I knew I couldn't pretend to be innocent about it, and it would have been a little too rude to deliberately and openly make him uncomfortable. I told Freddy that I thought the pin had something to do with a club at Yale, but I had no idea why Mr. Sheffield always wore it. I suggested that he might ask Mr. Sheffield himself. It was a mean trick, but I couldn't resist it. Freddy said he would, and I knew he was just the boy to do it too. Freddy was of an inquiring and tenacious turn of mind, and never dropped a research on any subject until he had found out all there was to be learned,—he was a very fine little fellow.

"A little while after that, we three were sitting as usual on the piazza, when my young ally came running up; as soon as he saw us he sang out in his delightful, eager, childish way, 'Oh, Mr. Sheffield, I want you to tell me something.' Sheffield, pleasant as punch, said, 'What is it Freddy?' You ought to have seen him when Freddy said, 'I want to know why you always wear that funny little pin?'

"Sheffield tried to pretend in the weakest way that he didn't hear him. The big sister told Freddy to run away and play; but Freddy was not the lad to be bluffed that way. He laughed in a knowing way and said, 'Ha-ha, I know. It's got something to do with some club at Yale, hasn't it? You have got some secret about it, haven't you? But I'll find it out. Nell has secrets too, but I always find 'em out.'

"Hereupon his sister told him that if he didn't mind her, and stop making a nuisance of himself, she'd tell his father and have him punished. He said he wasn't making a nuisance of himself and appealed to me. 'Mr. Hudson always tells me all about the Harvard clubs, don't you, Mr. Hudson?'

"I assured him that I didn't mind any such questions at all, and told him (Heaven forgive and preserve me!) that if he would come and see me at Cambridge I would make him have a first-rate time, and show him the clubs to which I belonged.

"'There,' he said, 'you don't think I'm a nuisance either, do you, Mr. Sheffield? Isn't there a club at Yale called the Skull and Keys? I know there is, 'cause I once heard Nell say she wondered how——'

"His sister grabbed him and said 'Stop' so severely that she managed to choke him off for a moment. But it had got too hot for Joe. He suddenly remembered that he had an engagement at three, at the Kebo Valley Club, and retreated, leaving the Crimson to wave alone and victorious over the field.

"Then how that girl did go for Freddy! He went off almost crying. I tried to stand up for the little man, and remarked how ridiculous the Yale men were about their societies. She didn't agree with me very heartily. She said it was a relief to see some young men take at least something seriously, and intimated that she didn't believe Harvard men were ever serious about anything, or had any reverence in them. So for half an hour I dilated on our great merits, and explained what worthy young men we really are.

"Next day I tried to 'set' Freddy on again, but it was no use; he had been temporarily sat on. I was lunching at their house, and for a wonder Sheffield wasn't there. I asked Freddy whether he had found out about Mr. Sheffield's club yet. He said 'No, and I can't either. Nell told on me, and Popper said he'd spank me if I troubled older people any more. I didn't trouble anybody, did I, Mr. Hudson? I said you had told me yourself to ask Mr. Sheffield about his pin, and Nell said you——'

"I never knew what his sister had said about me, because, just at this point, the old gentleman banged the table and roared, 'You eat your lunch, sir!' and Freddy subsided.

"A day or two after that, we all went on a picnic. Even Dick, the old hermit, came along, for a wonder. I persuaded his family it wouldn't be polite for him to stay home, as I was his guest."

"Yes," put in Dick, "you were my guest and I was responsible for your behavior. It wasn't the etiquette that worried my family, it was the danger of the thing. Besides, I wanted to see you and Joe Sheffield making fools of yourselves. You did it too, both of you. Go ahead. I won't interrupt you again."

"We all piled into those delightful long buckboards with four or five seats, and drove to the foot of one of the mountains. There is only one defect in the architecture of a Mt. Desert buckboard. It holds three on a seat. Sheffield had to shove himself in on the same seat with the pretty neighbor, so I got in on the other side of her. I did most of the talking during the drive."

(At points such as this during the narrative, Hudson would stop and violently puff his cigar, while Stoughton would hug himself gleefully, and show other signs of delight.)

"We carried the lunch up the mountain," Hudson went on, "and ate it, along with the ants and other things, on the summit. After lunch Sheffield managed to drop me, somehow, and I went off for a smoke with Dick. I consulted with Machiavelli Stoughton, as to how I might again cast down the man from Yale. I knew the crafty Dago could help me, if any one could. Dick wished for Freddy, for Dick always knew how to use that interesting child; but Freddy had been left weeping at home. Dago Mac' came up to his form, though. He suddenly pointed to a cluster of brilliant wild flowers. I said, 'Yes, very pretty. What about 'em.' Then Dick said 'Do you see that broad rock this side of them?' It was a smooth slab that reached from the path, about twenty feet, down to where the flowers grew. It slanted at a good steep angle, so that a man could barely walk down it, with rubber-soled shoes. I didn't get much inspiration out of the rock. Then Dick showed me a blackberry vine, or some sort of a bramble, that ran across the face of the rock a little more than half way down it. Still I couldn't see what he was driving at. He said to come along and he'd show me. We went to the basket where the remains of the lunch had been stowed, and Dick took what was left of the butter. Then we went back to the rock and the Dago greased as much as he could of it, just above the bramble. 'Now,' he said, 'when we start back for the buckboard, you fall in alongside of Sheffield and the enchantress. When you get to this rock, the method is very simple,—you show the flowers, Eli will do the rest.'

"At last I took in at a glance all the grand possibilities of the scheme. I remembered that Joe Sheffield was very particular about his appearance, and was dressed up to the hilt. He was always sensitive about his clothes. I fell upon Dick's neck and wept tears of gratitude. Then we went back to the rest of the party. Sheffield had had a monopoly the whole afternoon."

"A corner in Paradise?" suggested Burleigh.

"Exactly," said Hudson, "or perhaps Paradise in a corner. They didn't turn up until we had shouted for ten minutes and the party had all started down the mountain. I ranged up alongside of the pair, thereby breaking up the Paradise trust, and we three brought up the rear. When we got to the point in the path, just above the prepared rock, I called attention to the flowers, with great art. Of course she said: 'Oh, how perfectly lovely! Oh, I must have some of those!' and of course away we both jumped. I let Sheffield get a little ahead and then went carefully around the rock. He bounded gallantly down the face of it until he struck the butter. Then he sat down with a dull, sickening thud;—but he didn't stop there. He glided merrily on, over the blackberry vine, and in among the seductive flowers. He sat still for a minute, and I knew the situation had dawned on him with all its hideous uncertainties. Then he turned himself round, face to the path, and got up carefully and slowly, with a sort of sideways motion. He didn't attempt to pick any flowers. There was a great deal of sympathy expressed above, and inquiries as to whether he was hurt. Meantime I had arrived safely, picked the whole cluster of flowers, and brought them back in triumph. Sheffield followed me up, and when we moved on, he dropped in behind; he acknowledged the path was too narrow for three.

"On arriving at the foot of the mountain, he leaned up against a big tree, while the buckboards were being manned. The poor girl seemed to be very much worried about him; unnecessarily so, I thought. He assured her that he was not in the least hurt, but he stuck to the tree nevertheless. There was a bird's nest up in the tree, and I heard Dick ask Sheffield to climb up and see if there were any eggs in it, to oblige the ladies. I helped the girl into the backboard and climbed in beside her. After every one else had got aboard, the last seat, with Dick, was good enough for Sheffield. I ran the Paradise industry, without competition, all the way home. There seemed to be a certain hitch in it, however, for she kept wondering whether Sheffield was hurt. The bunch of wild flowers dropped out on the way, and Dick and I both jumped out and chased it; Sheffield didn't even turn around to see what had fallen. I slapped Dick on the back as we were picking up the flowers and said: 'She must have an opinion of his manners.' Great Scott! that was all I knew about it!"

Here Stoughton went through the hugging pantomime for the fourteenth time.

"She didn't seem to be very grateful when I brought those flowers back, and wouldn't talk much all the way home. She said she was sure Sheffield was hurt, and all on her account. When we arrived she asked him to dinner. He stayed in the buckboard and drove to his hotel to dress. She didn't ask me to dinner, and, by Jove, she left those flowers over which I had taken so much trouble in the buckboard! I was very grateful to the flowers, nevertheless."

"Well, I don't see where the joke on you comes in," said Holworthy, as Hudson paused.

"Neither did I," answered Hudson. "I thought, in fact, that I had been pretty clever about the whole affair, until—until," he went on, gathering force by the repetition, "until the engagement was announced! By Jove!" hurling his cigar butt into the fireplace as the recollection grew on him, "that man and that girl had been engaged all summer; for a week I had been playing smart Alec and steady number three, making her hate the sight of me, while the Yale man was undoubtedly all the time laughing in his sleeve at seeing me make a fool of myself."

"Go on," commanded the relentless Stoughton. "Go on, there is an epilogue,—or do you want me to tell it?"

"No, I'll do the whole thing," said Hudson, humbly. "When Dick and I went round to call after the announcement, and congratulate Sheffield, my little friend Freddy came running into the room. 'Oh, Mr. Hudson,' he shouted, 'isn't it fun! Now we know why Nell got so mad about my bothering Joe. Joe's very nice, but really I would rather have had you, and I told her so.'"

"That wasn't all he said," remarked Dick, "but I'll let you off the rest. I'll hold it over you for future occasions."

When Rattleton returned from New Haven a few days later, he announced at the table that his friend Sheffield was coming up for Class Day, with his fiancée. He had sent a special message to Hudson to say that they were going to bring Freddy, because Freddy was crazy to see Harvard, and Hudson had promised to show him all over college and take him into all the clubs.

"Whew!" whistled Hudson; "d—— that horrid little boy."

June, June, beautiful, glowing, fascinating June, no doubt thou art tired of hearing thy charms sung by lovers more eloquent than I, but forgive this outburst from one who has known thee in the shades of Cambridge. Never art thou more seductive than where the old walls and stately elm trees trace their cool outlines on the turf of the Yard, where the earnest, eager students, prone on the greensward, blow upon blades of grass between their thumbs, and bet on sparrow fights and caterpillar races. The tennis-courts are alive; there are ball games on Holmes' Field, and the river winding through the green-flowing meadow (the tide being high and the mud covered) is dotted with swift-gliding shells. In the long-fading twilight the bright-beflannelled and straw-behatted groups sit upon the fences, and lounge about the streets, trying to screw up enough energy to disperse to their rooms, and study for the—Finals.

Ah, June, that is the one worm i' the bud of thy beauty! It is hard, indeed, to eschew the racquet and the oar; to go over to the Library at an early hour and hunt up Story on the Constitution, or Dana's Wheaton, or Ruskin's Stones; to find it seized, and promised to five other men before yourself; to seek a retired alcove less hot than the rest of the drowsy place, and there, taking off your coat, to doze over a volume until four o'clock, when the reserved books may be taken out; then to carry a huge book over to your room, and with an awakening cigar, grind until dinner-time; to go at it again in the evening when the scent of early summer drifts through the open window, together with the singing and laughter of some inconsiderate jackass who has finished his examinations, or does not care whether he gets through them or not. Hard is all this, but still, oh, June, I would woo thee again in those shades even in that wise; for, perchance, I might finish my examinations early and then would I enjoy life to its fullest, and make it miserable for my less fortunate friends. I would join with those who had also finished their work, and we would have a grand reaction. We would urge the others to join us on the river and the tennis-courts; we would sing in the Yard of evenings, and the free would put their heads out of window and cry "More! More!!" while the still grinding slaves would cry "Shut up!" and other things that I should grieve to hear and will not state; and if haply we sat upon the steps of Matthews or of Holworthy, or any where within range, these same scurvy slaves would throw pitchers of water and other things, even eggs kept for the purpose, until we untrammelled souls betook ourselves elsewhere. Then would we go to the "pop" concert, or the Howard Athenæum, or other abode of intellectual rest; and after that we would sup with great mirth. We would found a recuperating club for weary minds, and as each friend threw off the yoke and joined us, we would receive him with becoming ceremonies. Oh! the last week before Class Day is well worth the pains of the other three.

"What is so rare as a day in June!" carolled Hudson joyfully, as he danced into his room and thumped Burleigh on the back.

"One in February," growled that portly gentleman, "there are two less of 'em in the year. Now look here; if you are going to kick up a row because you are all through, just get out of here, and make your ill-timed noise somewhere else."

"Don't be so sour. Hullo, Lazy Jack; these be hard times for you, old Butterfly. How many more have you got?"

"Five," sighed Jack. "Pol. Econ. 23, Fine Arts, Freshman English, and two entrance conditions."

"Great Scott! The way of the transgressor is hard."

"Clear out of here," commanded Burleigh. "I am coaching this man Rattleton, and I don't want any interruption in my private tutoring. Get out," and Ned hove a dictionary at his exuberant room-mate.

"Oh, if you are laboring with Jack, I won't interfere with the good work of the Rattleton Rescue Mission," said Hudson, dodging the dictionary and taking himself off to irritate some one else.

Ned Burleigh was never in such a mood about his own examinations. He was one of the few men for whom those trials had no terrors. None of his friends could tell exactly when he did work for an examination; it might have been at 4 A.M. on the same morning after a supper; it might have been on the train during an inter-exam. excursion to Newport, or on a cat-boat cruise in the harbor. Yet he had never failed. He used to say that to know too much about a course made the examinations mere drudgery, but that when there was an uncertainty, then there was some sport in the struggle, some excitement as to whether you could throw the paper or the paper would throw you. That was all very well for him, who generally "ragged a B." and never got "flunked," but it was a dangerous attempt for most men to follow his example.

This year, however, Ned was devoting himself to Jack Rattleton. It was a serious case with Jack, for he had any number of conditions to work off, so many, in fact, that every one was rather astonished at his attempt to retrieve his degree, and at the unwonted, desperate efforts of Lazy Jack. It was a forlorn hope, and the betting was heavily against him. Under any circumstances Ned Burleigh would have done all he could to help poor Jack pull through, but, added to his unselfish interest in his friend, were pride in his pupil and the fact that he had taken some of the long odds against him. Nor could Jack have found a better coach in the most high-priced tutor in Cambridge. With a thorough knowledge of the courses he had taken, Ned combined a knowledge of the presiding minds in those courses, and, moreover, he understood perfectly the science of passing an examination.

"Now, Jack," he said, "you know the important points and main definitions in that course pretty well. Just remember that all that is good is Greek, and all that is Greek is good, and no modern work from the Brooklyn Bridge to a beer mug is worthy of aught save the abhorrence of cultivated men. If the exam is in Sever, you might throw in an allusion to the draughts and foul air in that modern pile of bricks. Now how about Pol. Econ. 23? Let's see, does Jowler give that still? Well, you are morally certain to have a question on the Tariff of '46—that is his pet. Be certain that the country has never been more prosperous than under that tariff. Of course, there was the discovery of gold and other causes of prosperity at the same time, but unless you know all about them, and can explain them away, don't touch on them at all. Jowler is a free trader, bear that in mind. I will do him the justice to say that he would be delighted if you knew enough about the course and were clever enough to make any strong points for protection; but you are not, so don't try it. Stick to plain, first principles, and show that the country is going to the devil."

"Gad, Ned," said Rattleton, shaking his head in mournful admiration, "it is a great thing to have learned so much. I have wasted my advantages awfully."

"Constant application, my son," quoth Burleigh, (who for three years had been on the ragged edge of probation, and had been saved only by his high marks), "strict attendance on lectures, and careful attention to the great men under whom it is our privilege to sit. Even if you never go near the library, you can learn much in the lecture-room. Now I must leave you; I am going to a seminar over in College House."

"All right, I have got to leave, too," said Jack, looking at his watch. "There is a grinding bee in entrance Greek, in Jim de Laye's room—lot of foolish virgins like myself, who have put off the job until Senior year, and are doing their school work now. By the way, I promised to collar a mucker to drive the horse."

"Get my friend, Mr. James Casey; very intelligent young man; understands the job thoroughly. You will undoubtedly find him playing duck-on-a-rock in a vacant lot back of Holyoke, or badgering the Dago fruit-man on the corner. If you don't find him, drop a package of cigarettes somewhere, and watch it; you will catch a mucker right away."

"A better way than that," said Jack, "is to chain Blathers to the iron railing of the Pudding, and stand behind the door. In five minutes all the best talent in muckerdom will be there with tin-cans and stones."

Jack had no need, however, to expose his faithful hound. He found a covey of muckers, in the vacant lot before mentioned, and on demanding whether any of them could read, was at once besieged with volunteers to "drive the pony." "Chimmie" Casey was among them, and Jack secured his services. "Chimmie" had been at school to some advantage, for he could read Bohn's translations with great fluency (which is the English of "driving the pony"), and made many a half dollar by his learning.

Jack took him round to De Laye's room, where eight or ten men were already assembled, with books, pipes, and siphons of seltzer, ready for the services. The mucker was put in the middle of the room with the "trot"; the students sat around him and followed the translation in their Greek texts. The following is a short specimen of Prof. Casey's flowing delivery of the Iliad:

"Den puttin' on deir shinin' mail, dey moved apart from de great crowd of admirin' Trojans and well-greased Greeks. Den Jones spake——"

"What!"

"I can't say dese hard names. Mr. Burleigh told me to call 'em all Jones when I got stuck."

"All right, go ahead."

"Jones spake wid words of hate. 'Dog-eyed son of—son of—' Gosh! dat's a hard name to call a feller."

"Let it go at Jones."

"'Dog-eyed son of Jones [I must learn dat], now shalt dou meet dy doom. To him Jones, de god-like son o' Jones—' say, how did dese fellers all have different names from der faders?"

"Never mind; go on with the trot."

"'T'ink not to turn my heart to water wid your vauntin' words' [always jawin' before dey fight].

"He spake and t'rew his mighty spear and struck full in de midst of Jones' buckler round. It pierced eight folds of tough bull-hide and t'rough de brazen breastplate and cut de linen vest beneat' [dat Jones was a daisy]. Den Jones, poisin' his mighty spear, prayed to Jove: 'Oh, fader Jove, wreak now meet punishment on dis offender; send him to de shades by my arm,'—say, what's he always stoppin' to talk to dat feller for in de middle of a scrap?"

"Shut up and go on!"

"He trew his spear in turn, but de point fell harmless. Den again he cried aloud: 'Oh, fader Jove, dou art de most unkind'—was Jove de referee?"

"Look here, Jamesey, if you don't stop talking we'll dock your pay."

"Den sure de light had sped from Jones' eyes, but mudder Venus, when she saw her son hard-pressed, flew to his side. From de field she bore him far from Jones' wrat', wrapped in a hollow cloud [de h—— she did! Dat's de silliest fight ever I hear on.]"

At the end of the "grinding bee" young Mr. Casey was dismissed with coins, a cigarette, and advice to restrict his annotations in future lectures.

Rattleton struggled along in his new mode of life for a week or two longer, until his last examination a few days before Class Day. Ned had sent him to bed early on the night before. At breakfast, and on the way over to University, Nestor gave his final advice.

"Look your paper over carefully before you begin to write. Write only on those questions that you can answer, and write a lot on them, so that you apparently have no time for the others. Don't try to bluff on the questions that you don't know; some men can do it, but don't you try it. It rarely goes down with Jowler. Take the whole three hours, and don't go out early, even if you have written all you know. Now, good luck to you, old man; go in and win. I'll see you at lunch."

The paper was very easy. Dick Stoughton had the same course, and finished his answers early. While waiting a decent time for appearance sake, before going out, he executed a characteristic stroke. Brown, the proctor, was a man who prided himself on his sharpness and yearned for opportunities to show it. He was taking a post-graduate course, and had been in the University only one year. He had a custom of walking stealthily about the room, and, in the most offensive manner, peering over men's shoulders while they wrote. On one of these hunts he sat down on the corner of Stoughton's desk and looked over the shoulder of the man in front. Machiavelli Stoughton hastily wrote out, on the back of the examination paper, the gist of half the answers. This paper he pinned on the back of the proctor's coat with the legend "Read him and pass him along." Brown then continued on his tour of inspection, to the edification of all and the salvation of many.

Several other men came out early also. They gathered on the steps of University, and compared notes on the paper. The chief topic of conversation, however, was Rattleton.

"I am afraid the jig is up with poor Jack Rat," said one man. "He is stuck."

"Yes, I saw him biting his pencil and tearing his hair," corroborated another.

"He looked gloomy as a funeral," said Dick; "besides that paper was so easy that, if he knew anything about the course, he ought to have finished by this time."

"He will lose his degree surely unless he gets a squint at Brown's back," said Gray. "Can't anything more be done for him? Set your crafty brains at work, Dago Dick."

"Of course, nothing can be done," said another man. "How are we going to communicate with him from out here? We might get him in an awful scrape."

"Hold on, I've got it!" cried Stoughton, and dashed off across the Yard.

Half an hour later a man hurriedly entered the drowsy examination room in University, and went up to the proctor with a telegram. Brown looked at the address and took it over to Rattleton. Jack was now slumped down in his seat gazing blankly at a fly in his inkstand, probably wishing to change places with the fly. The proctor handed him the telegram and stood near him. Jack opened the envelope, then started and smiled a little as he read the message. He looked up suddenly and caught the proctor trying to read the telegram.

"No bad news I hope, Mr. Rattleton," said the latter, looking at him narrowly.

"Oh, no," answered Jack, "best of news." He closed his blue book with a slam and returned the proctor's gaze squarely.

"Ahem!" coughed that officer of the Court. "I presume, of course, Mr. Rattleton, that your message is in no way connected with this examination?"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Brown," replied Jack in his deliberate drawl, "you do not presume anything of the kind. If you did, you would have better manners than to be so inquisitive about it;—at least I will give you credit for such. As a matter of fact this telegram contains no information on the paper."

"I must insist upon seeing it, sir," exclaimed the red and astounded proctor.

Jack rose to his feet. "You heard what I said," he remarked quietly. "I am not in the habit of being doubted."

He walked up to the desk at the end of the room, and put his blue book on the pile of others. "You notice, Mr. Brown, that I have not written a word since receiving this message. I do not know who sent it, nor anything about it. Here it is if you would like to read it." He threw the telegram on the desk and stalked out of the room.

The group of men on the steps outside crowded around him with eager inquiries.

"I don't know," said Jack, "but I guess I got through. I had written most of the answers half an hour ago, but, of course, I was not fool enough to go out early, and have the proctor mark the time on my blue book. That is all very well for you fellows who are sure of your answers and have good reputations, but I need to exhibit the full three hours of careful thought. I should have stayed to the end if I hadn't had a tiff with Brown, the proctor, about a telegram."

"What!" cried the others. "Dick Stoughton's telegram? What happened?"

"Nothing much; Brown has it."

"Nothing much! You are a ruined man! Didn't you see that telegram was a brilliant idea of Dago Mac's. It had all the answers in it; didn't it, Dick?"

Jack looked at Dick, and grinned.

"Oh, no," said that crafty genius, "that is only what you fellows thought. I wasn't fool enough to write anything of the kind, when that Argus Brown was proctor."

"If he is small enough to look at that telegram after I gave it to him," said Jack, "what he read was this: 'Get into a row with Brown about this telegram. He is a cad, and will probably accuse you of lying. Old Jowler hates that sort of thing, and has no love for the Brown type of proctor. If he hears of the row, he will count it up in your favor.'"

The conflict of evidence in the case renders it difficult to decide whether Class Day is the gayest or the saddest of the college year. Certain graduates, being duly sworn, depose that it was the happiest day of their whole lives; an equal number—no, the Court will presume the better—a somewhat smaller number, refuses to testify at all, until kind Time has obliterated, or, at any rate, mitigated, important facts in the case; until, indeed, the memory of man goeth not, or goeth gently, to the harsh Contrary. Most of the Seniors bear witness as here followeth. Were too busy to notice their impressions distinctly; remember being blue at intervals, decidedly so in the evening. Think they felt jolly on the way to Saunders' Theatre behind the band; know they felt gloomy in Saunders'. Were worried at their own spreads; believe the strawberries gave out; had a very fair time at the other fellows' spreads. Got badly banged around the Tree; can swear they got more flowers off it than anybody else. Took good care of their families to the best of their knowledge and belief; took their mothers up to their rooms, when affected by the heat; did not see their sisters; saw very little of any other sisters. Enjoyed the singing of the Glee Club until it came to "College Days are Over" and "Fair Harvard"; began to feel a little out of sorts then, and grew more so after everybody had gone. Continued in same frame of mind until the wind-up at the club. How they felt after that some deponents say not, others testify to being still more depressed, and going to bed in decided gloom. On the whole, think the day was a sad one.

On the other hand, the testimony of the Juniors and under-classmen is overwhelmingly on the side of joy. So is that of the rank and file of the army of occupation. The generals, officers of the day, and provost-marshals of that army testify that it is a day of hard work and wearing responsibility. For on that day the largest stronghold of Trouserdom capitulates unconditionally, and from bastion to casemate is swept by the skirts of the invading battalions. Bright dresses everywhere dot the grass, and float over floors that for twelve months have known only the tread of the trousered boot. Some of the clubs even are surrendered, and only here and there is kept a hiding-place, to which the overpowered defenders may flee to rally on a cigar, or change their wilted armor. The garrison is enslaved almost to a man, each one being attached to the train of some conqueror. During the day the victors are content with such triumph, and show some clemency while their officers hold them in check; but when the shades of evening begin to fall, and the provost-marshals have grown tired, then the slavery is turned into a massacre. Scenes of carnage are everywhere, and the helpless captives are put to the fan without mercy. Some are merely tortured a little, others slaughtered outright, and at the end of the evening many a scalp goes forth dangling from a slender waist. On the other hand, however, it is a solace to reflect that some of the invaders are themselves captured, and paroled for life.

Dick Stoughton had declared that there was to be no tomfoolery for him. His people had gone abroad, and he would therefore incur no filial liabilities. He rarely went anywhere in society, and had no civilities to repay. He thanked Providence that "not one mother's daughter of 'em had any mortgage" on him. The only people he invited lived in the far West, and wouldn't come. It is often said that a man never enjoys his own Class Day; he would see about that. He called for volunteers in the good work. None of Ned Burleigh's relatives were coming East, so he agreed to stand on Dick's right hand and keep the strike with him. Randolph was also family-free and promised to join in the stand for liberty. These three organized as the Protective Brotherhood of Amalgamated Seniors.

The objects of the Brotherhood were declared to be lunch, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The first rule was to assist each other in obtaining nourishment and irrigation at the crowded "spreads." They were to do commissariat duty for no one. The second principle was to stand by each other through all the perils of the day; if any brother should be captured the others were to rescue him at once,—three men could resist better than one. They also arranged a plan of co-operation and mutual relief, by which any member could talk to any one he chose without fear of bondage. The strategic moves were as follows. If one of the three saw some one to whom he wanted to talk, he was to notify the others, who would stand at his back while he opened fire. A time limit of five minutes was to be allowed him. Brother Stoughton wanted to cut this down to two minutes, and Brother Randolph desired ten. The altercation roused suspicions in Brother Stoughton's mind, and insinuations on his part against Brother Randolph's sincerity; but Brother Burleigh smoothed over the incipient breach and compromised on five minutes. At the end of five minutes the fire was to be slackened, and half of the reserves called up by saying: "May I present my friend," etc. One of the fresh supports should then wheel to the front, and while he engaged the enemy, the other two should go off and find a non-union man,—a happy, irresponsible Junior, if possible, one of those important, conceited Juniors, who wear little silver ushers' pins, and think they are running the whole thing and having a glorious time. The two brethren were to tell this Junior that a very charming girl had asked particularly to have him presented. Then they should take him up to where their companion was holding his ground, throw the Junior into the action, and under cover of this diversion the three would retreat and leave him to his fate, pleasant or otherwise, as the case might be.

Hudson thought the plan an excellent one, but was precluded from joining by family cares. Holworthy said "nonsense," and also expected to be busy all day. Gray declared it was all out of keeping with the spirit of the day, and indignantly refused to have anything to do with it; whereupon the Amalgamated Brethren called him "scab," and threatened to shadow him during the evening. Jack Rattleton did not show much interest on either side, and indeed was not sure that he would stay up for Class Day at all. There was something the matter with Jack, probably the effects of his abnormal efforts during the examinations.

It rains on Class Day every fifth year, and as this was only the third, the weather was all right on the great morning. The vanguard of the invaders was first met in Saunders' Theatre, and there held in check and severely handled for an hour and a half. That was the last resistance offered, however; after that the bright, victorious masses swarmed everywhere, and reinforcements kept pouring in over the bridge. The Protective Brotherhood formed square immediately, and bravely cut its way through the opening spread at the Hemenway Gymnasium. It moved on the other spreads with equal success. There was a little friction early in the day betwixt Brothers Stoughton and Randolph, because the latter led into action with unnecessary frequency and boldness. He wanted to talk to some one every fifteen minutes, and the supporting tactics had to be put in operation too often to suit Dick. Furthermore, Randolph frequently ran over the time limit.

In the struggle round the Tree, the "gang" organized itself with great effect. Little Gray was mounted on Burleigh's shoulders, and with the others guarding him, tore down flowers enough for all his supporters. After the Tree, the Brotherhood prudently united again, and towards evening went cautiously to the Beck Hall spread. They had hardly got on the grounds before Randolph in an undertone ejaculated the omnisignificant, "By Jove!"

"Are you going in again?" demanded Stoughton, impatiently. "You'll tire us out. We shall do this thing once too often, the first thing you know, and one of us will get stuck."

"You fellows needn't bother about relieving me this time," answered Randolph, graciously, and off he went. He was not seen again during the evening.

"That is what I call rank desertion," exclaimed Dick, in disgust. "I have been afraid all along he'd do that. The beggar uses us all day until she turns up, then we can shift for ourselves."

"Treason, treason!" cried Burleigh, "let's follow him up and make it pleasant for him."

"No," growled Dick, "let these squires of dames run their heads into the yoke if they want to. Come on, old man, you and I will stand by each other, anyway, and live and die free men. Let's strike the grub; that Tree shindy has made me ravenous."

But the "grub" was hard to "strike." Pale famine threatened over the lawn of Beck Hall. There was a surging mass around the table in the tent, and as fast as a dish was brought in (which was not very fast) it was snapped up by the foragers with cries of "For a lady, for a lady." There was little hope for a free patriot guerilla among these enthralled commissaries of the conquerors.

"Look here," said Dick, "I notice the dishes are brought out of that door. The thing for us to do is to trace these waiters up to their source."

They followed this Stoughtonian idea, and worked up stream against the waiters, until they arrived at the fountain of supply in the cellar of the Hall. The springs were very nearly exhausted, but there was enough salad to load two plates. A demijohn contained one glassfull of claret punch. For this they matched, and Dick won it. Then the explorers returned up-stairs, with their brilliantly won booty. Just as they were emerging on the lawn, Dick ahead with his plate in one hand and the glass in the other, they heard an exclamation of "Why, there's Mr. Stoughton!" A huge frigate was bearing right down upon them, with all sail set, and four light craft in tow!

Dick's knees shook together, and with a look of astonished horror, he groaned, "Good Lord! How did they ever get here?"

"Quick!" said Burleigh; "give me the punch. For Heaven's sake save that. You've got to take your hat off. Hang it, man, where are your manners?"

In his confusion Dick handed his glass to Ned, and bowed. The next minute the enemy was upon him.

"Oh, Mr. Stoughton, I'm so glad we've found you. You must be surprised to see us, aren't you? So good of you to ask us. I didn't expect to get here, but the girls insisted that they could not miss your Class Day. So we've come all the way from Omaha. Think of that! You are the only friend we've met. Oh! where did you get all that salad?"

"Ah—er—delighted,—er—so glad you could come," murmured Dick. "Brought the whole family too—this is awfully jolly. By-the-way, let me present my friend, Mr. Burleigh."

Dick turned round for his supporter. Edward was gone; so was the punch.

Ned Burleigh fled round a corner seeking a secluded nook that he had marked down for emergencies. His intentions were perfectly loyal; he meant to return and succor his ally after he had safely disposed of the food and liquid. But he had not gone a dozen steps before he encountered Steve Hudson with a weary look in his eye. That organ lit up when it fell on the stout chum and his burden.

"Oh, Ned! where did you get it? Give it to me."

"There may be a little more where this came from," answered Ned, sweetly.

"Give it to me, Ned. I want it for my mother. My whole family is starving on my hands."

"Hum," said Burleigh, suspiciously. "I think I will take it to her myself. I know this 'for a lady' dodge. If your statement is true, I want the credit of the sacrifice."

"Good," exclaimed Hudson, the weary look passing away entirely. "Come along. My sister has been disappointed at not seeing you all day."

The sister's alleged disappointment was not relieved, for she was not with the family at all. Two or three aunts and a pig-tailed cousin were. While Burleigh was yielding up his hard-earned spoils with a hollow, a very hollow grace, and receiving thanks, Steve Hudson disappeared, saying he would be back in a moment.

The pale, beseeching face of Dick, languishing among five women, rose before Ned's vision, but this was no time to think of his comrade;—he had to forage ice-cream for the aunts. Then he had to get some water; then he had to look for the escaped daughter, an unsuccessful quest. ("It's too bad to trouble you this way, Mr. Burleigh"); then he had to round up two small boys. ("The boys have no business here, I know, but they begged so hard to come"); then he had to take the pig-tail round the Yard; then more water ("Oh, if you could get some Apollinaris"); Apollinaris; then he had to order the carriage ("Where can Steve be? We can't go away without saying good-by to the boy, and telling him what a good time we have had"); then he had to put off the carriage; etc, etc, etc. And thus fell the last of the Amalgamated Seniors!

The carriages were beginning to leave. Ernest Gray got his family off among the first, and then went on a search.

He looked everywhere, as far as the outlying spread at the Agassiz; but unsuccessfully. He came to the conclusion that Class Day was about over, and began to think that it was not so merry as he had always thought it before. As he strolled back over the Delta, it occurred to him that he would not cross the old historic battle-ground often again—if at all. Memorial Hall was brightly illuminated. The light shone through the stained-glass windows, and showed the array of those who had done their duty. The window of '61 caught his eye most plainly. On the one half was a student listening to the trumpet, on the other he was going forth full armed. Over the Senior's head, the calm face of the Founder looked through the night into the West,—into the West, where spread the nation.

He did not go through the Yard, he walked slowly along behind it. He heard the sound of music, and between the buildings caught a glimpse of the enchanted quadrangle, the last bright transformation scene before the drop of the curtain. He wandered on and beneath a well-known window looked up, perhaps from force of habit. Then he stopped, for, though the open window was dark, he thought he saw a form in it. He went up-stairs and knocked at the door. "Come in," said Jack Rattleton's voice. The room was unlit, and Jack was sitting in the window-seat with his dog.

"Hello, old man," said Gray. "I haven't seen you since the Tree. Have you been up here by yourself all the evening?"

"Well, you see," drawled Jack. "Blathers was up here all alone, and I thought I'd sit with him a little while. I can amuse him better than I can a girl, you know."

Gray walked over to him, and for a long time the two men of opposite natures looked silently out of the window together. Below, they could see the Japanese lanterns, the white dresses, and all the gay throng—they could see them, but they didn't. They saw, above the elms, the belfry of Harvard Hall against the clear night sky. They saw the familiar outlines of the dark roofs and spires. Over all, they saw the tower of Memorial pointing to the stars. Up from the Yard floated, distinctly, the measures of the Anthem.