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The night of the bridge scrap—which, by Sheddon tradition, was to end all hazing—came in due course; a night a bit cloudy, and, by consequence, as dark as Erebus. Quite early in the evening the class began to gather, and the cries of “Freshmen out!” “All Sophomores out!” began to be lifted in the college suburb streets very shortly after supper.

True to his own traditions, Larry sat down at the study table and boned his Math. for the next day, resolutely shutting his ears to Dick’s agonized protests to the effect that all the fun would be over before they could get in on it. It was half-past eight before the boner shut his book and announced his readiness. But while he was getting into his oldest clothes and overalls, he once more defined his position.

“Don’t you get ‘hope up’ about me, Dick. I’m going in on this because it seems to be a job that has to be done before the Soffies will mind their own business and let us alone. That’s all there is to it, so far as I’m concerned.”

“Maybe you’ll have another angle on it before we get through,” was all that Dick said in reply; and they set out.