“Is the punch ready?”
“All ready,” answered the voice of Bruce Browning, who, along with Merriwell and other juniors, had come down to stand by the “timid freshmen” through the “frightful ordeal.”
It was a “wild and weird decoction” Browning had mixed in the great punchbowl. A huge cake of ice was in the bowl, and it was floating in dark, amber-colored liquid. The big junior had promised the freshmen that he would give the sophomores something that would make them “harmless.”
Diamond had tasted the punch. Immediately he howled “fire,” and asked somebody to run to the nearest box and send in an alarm.
“If you would add some strychnine to it, Browning, it might improve the flavor,” said Dismal Jones, with the utmost seriousness, apparently.
“I don’t think it would make it any more deadly!” exclaimed Diamond.
“Let Theta Psi and Beta Xi stand from under,” said Bruce, with a wild flourish of the big ladle.
The freshmen were happy, but nervous. Some of them had been chosen for Theta Psi and Beta Xi. They knew it, but as yet were not aware who were to become the “victims.” The company of the juniors gave them confidence. Little did they dream that not a few of the juniors had been members of those very societies, and were there really for the purpose of helping along the sophomores in their work.
When the first sound of singing was heard on the street the freshmen were all agog. Cigars were flung aside, and there was a rush for the windows.
Tramp! tramp! tramp! The steady, regular tread of heavy feet told of the approach of the rival clans.