"It won't be well with you fellows if those chaps downstairs hear you talking that way," cautioned Jordan, "besides the initiation is only fun, and any of us are willing to stand jokes."
After a three-hour wait, a group of sophomores, and the freshmen's tormentors—appeared upon the scene and ordered the candidates to follow them into the dreaded annex. In this "torture chamber" the older members, juniors and seniors, seated on benches placed around the wall, were waiting gravely the arrival of their victims.
The honors of the occasion had been given into the hands of the sophomores, and as they trailed in followed by the quaking applicants, a hush fell over the expectant members of the society.
The five freshmen were ordered to stand in a row, and Richard Hall, the spokesman of the second-year class, came forward, holding up one hand in mock reverence.
"Gentlemen," he began, "I first christen you all in the name of the 'Cranium' Fraternity. I give you, Dillon, the name of 'Swipes.' You, Brown, shall be dubbed 'Shorts'—here he hesitated an instant, perusing a slip of paper which lay on the table beside him—Preston, you may add another 'S' to make a trio—your name shall be 'Spuddy.'"
Hall allowed his eyes to gaze reflectively upon Dan Jordan.
"To a big fellow like you, Jordan," he resumed, "I give 'Captain.'" His voice dropped as if he had either overlooked or forgotten Frederick, and the young fellow waited expectantly.
Suddenly Hall flashed him a glance, then dropped his eyes with twitching lips.
"'Parson' is good enough for you, Graves."
Sweeping the five candidates with his searching gaze, he took up the speech again—