AT MOREY'S.
"Say, fellows, this thing must stop!"
Puss Parker banged his fist down upon the table as he made this emphatic declaration, the blow causing the partly emptied glass of ale to dance and vibrate.
"Aw, say," yawned Willis Paulding, "you want to be a little cawful or you will slop the good stuff, don't yer know."
Willis affected a drawl, had his clothes made in London, and considered himself "deucedly English," although he sometimes forgot himself for a short time and dropped his mannerisms.
Tad Horner gave Paulding a look of scorn.
"Come off your perch, Paul!" he invited. "You give me severe pains! Get onto yourself! I don't wonder Parker is excited over this matter."
"Who wouldn't be excited?" exclaimed Puss. "These confounded freshmen have overthrown all the established customs of the college. They have been running things with a high hand. Why, they have really been cocks of the walk ever since that little affair out at East Rock."
"'Sh!" cautioned Punch Swallows, a lad with fiery red hair. "Don't speak of that, for the love of goodness! Just think of a gang of sophs being captured by freshmen disguised as Indians, taken out into the country, tied to stakes and nearly roasted, while the freshmen dance a gleeful cancan around them! It's awful! The mere thought of it gives me nervous prostration!"
It was two weeks after the duel, and the five sophomores had gathered in the little back room at Morey's, They looked at each other and were silent, but their silence was very suggestive.