Phil and Tom, who were taking up some advanced work in mathematics, spent two evenings a week "boning" with Mellville, a senior, and this was one of the occasions when they went to his room. They had permission to be up beyond the usual hour, and it was rather late when they returned to their own apartment. Mellville had his rooms in a new fraternity house, not far from Booker Memorial Chapel, and to get to their own room, which was in the west dormitory, Phil and Tom had to cross the campus, and go in the rear of the "prof house," as the building was called where Dr. Churchill and the faculty had their living quarters. As the two chums were walking along, they became aware of a figure coming up the campus from another direction--from where the main entrance gates of the college loomed up dimly in the darkness. "Some one's coming in late," murmured Phil. "Likely to get caught," added Tom. "I saw Proc. Zane sneaking around a few minutes ago." "By Jove, that walks like Sid!" whispered Phil, a moment later. "It is Sid," he added. "Yes, and there goes Zane after him!" groaned Tom. "He's caught, sure, unless we can warn him. Poor old Sid!" "Too late," remarked Phil, as he saw the figure of the proctor break into a run. Sid also darted off, but soon he saw he had no chance to escape, and he stood still. "Ah, Mr. Henderson, good evening," greeted the proctor sarcastically. "Out rather late, aren't you?" "I'm--I'm afraid so, sir," answered Sid hesitatingly; his two chums, from their position in the dark shadows of the faculty house being able to hear everything. "No doubt about it," went on the proctor gleefully. He had kept vigil for many nights of late, and his prey had escaped him. Now he had a quarry. "Have you permission to be out after hours?" demanded the official. "No, sir." "I thought not. Report to Dr. Churchill directly after chapel," and the proctor, by the light of a small pocket electric lamp he carried, began to enter Sid's name in his book. As he did so Tom and Phil could see the watch-dog of the college gate gaze sharply at their chum. Then Mr. Zane, putting out his hand, caught hold of Sid's coat. "Are they going to fight?" asked Tom in a hoarse whisper. "Sid must be crazy!" A moment later came the proctor's voice. "Ha, Mr. Henderson, I thought I smelled liquor on you! I am not deceived. What have you in that pocket?" "Noth--nothing, sir," stammered Sid. There was a momentary struggle, and the proctor pulled something from an inner pocket of Sid's coat. By the gleam of the electric lamp, Tom and Phil could see that it was a bottle--a flask of the kind usually employed to carry intoxicants--broad and flat, to fit in the pocket.