A wild shriek of laughter rang out as Tubbs made the leap. He had jumped across a narrow brook not six inches deep and landed sprawling on the grass beyond.
"You are now initiated," said one of the masked cadets, when the laughter had somewhat died away. And at once Tubbs' hands were untied and the bag was taken from his head.
"Well, I never!" he murmured, as he gazed in amazement at the brook.
"Thought it was the lake front sure!"
"As you are now one of us, Tubbs, you must wear these," said a cadet, and furnished the fashionable youth with a mask, cap, and pair of horns.
"We have now disposed of number two," said another cadet. "What of number three?"
"Number three must—"
At that moment a gun-shot rang out on the still night air.
"Hullo, something is wrong!" cried one of the hazers, in quick alarm.
"There goes the drum, fellows!" came in the unmistakable voice of Sam
Rover. "We've got to hustle back to camp or we'll be exposed!"
"Right you are," came from Songbird Powell. "Come, fellows, and mind you don't let anybody see the masks and other things."