The night of the bridge scrap――which, by Sheddon tradition, was to end all hazing――came in due course; a night a bit cloudy, and, by consequence, as dark as Erebus. Quite early in the evening the class began to gather, and the cries of “Freshmen out!” “All Sophomores out!” began to be lifted in the college suburb streets very shortly after supper. True to his own traditions, Larry sat down at the study table and boned his Math. for the next day, resolutely shutting his ears to Dick’s agonized protests to the effect that all the fun would be over before they could get in on it. It was half-past eight before the boner shut his book and announced his readiness. But while he was getting into his oldest clothes and overalls, he once more defined his position. “Don’t you get ‘hope up’ about me, Dick. I’m going in on this because it seems to be a job that has to be done before the Soffies will mind their own business and let us alone. That’s all there is to it, so far as I’m concerned.” “Maybe you’ll have another angle on it before we get through,” was all that Dick said in reply; and they set out. As Dick had predicted, they were a little late; when they reached the streets they found them deserted. But they knew the location of the bridge, a mile back of the campus; and the mile was covered at a dog-trot. Though they had been tardy for the assembling, they were in time for everything else. While the night was dark, the battlefield was luridly illuminated by flaring gasoline torches. The bridge was a modern concrete structure of a single long span over the small river; broad, and with footways at the sides protected by parapets breast-high. At either end was an ornamental portal arch, and it was upon this that the winning class was permitted to paint its year numerals. When Larry and Dick arrived upon the scene, the Sophomores had taken possession of the bridge, and the Freshmen were massed in the road. Upperclassmen――Seniors for the Sophomores and Juniors for the Freshmen――were “frisking” the combatants for weapons. No fellow with good red blood in him would go into such a conflict armed; but in a bunch of six or eight hundred undergraduates there are always a few “yellows,” and they had to be searched. As the Juniors in pairs searched the green caps, others followed with strips of white cloth to be worn on the arm as a distinguishing mark by the attackers. “Fair play!” was the oft-repeated caution of the upperclassmen; and dire punishment was promised to the fellows who should break this tradition.