“That’s where you show your freshness, young fellow,” said Jack Diamond. “They all belong to the same class, and you couldn’t make them fight.” “Put out the lights, freshies!” yelled a score of voices from the street. Both societies gathered on the sidewalk in front of the Henderson “ranch.” It was seen that they were disguised in various ways. Some wore long dusters and high, pointed hats of white, while others wore black gowns and high black hats. There were sixty of them in all, and they made the night hideous with their wild cries. However, there was no scuffling between them, and everything indicated a friendly rivalry. Soon the doors were opened, and the sixty sophomores came rushing into the house. They had captured a bass drum somehow, and they beat it all the way from the sidewalk up the stairs. The committee were in advance, and they singled out their freshmen, giving them the notification in a certain manner that was both mysterious and formal. When it was all over few of the freshmen selected knew of anybody else who had been thus honored. Then the fun began. Browning and Rattleton ladled out the punch in cups and goblets, and it was “absorbed” with great rapidity by the innocent sophies. Cigars, pipes and everything that would make a smoke were lighted, and it was not long before the atmosphere could be cut with a dull knife. As usual, Frank did not smoke or drink, but he was able to withstand the fumes of liquor in a marvelous manner, and he was enjoying it all immensely. He sang the songs with the others, cracked jokes, and his ringing laugh was infectious. “Walk up, gentlemen--walk up and get your poison!” cried Rattleton. “That’s a good name for it,” said Jack Diamond. In one of the rooms there was a scuffle and fall. “What was that?” cried a startled freshman. “It sounded as if something broke.” “If it were a little later,” laughed Frank, “I should think it was the break of day.” It was learned that nothing serious had happened. Two freshmen had punched each other a little, but that was not worth considering as long as neither freshman had been killed. Charlie Creighton climbed on a table and gave a toast, holding a brimming goblet of punch aloft. “Gentlemen, here is champagne to our real friends and real pain to our sham friends.” “Good! good!” was the cry, and a big inroad was made on the supply of punch. Dismal Jones arose and gravely said: “I would like to inquire, gentlemen, how you regard the manufacture of Eve from Adam’s rib?” “I regard it as a side-splitting joke,” cried Merriwell quickly, and this answer brought a burst of applause, while Jones relapsed into his chair with a sweet, sad smile, and drank more punch.