“Yes. Through a corrupt judge. He must have done some tall bribery. He got a writ of habeas corpus, and the judge declared that there were no grounds for holding him. Not even under bail. Then he made a quick disappearance. I have no idea where he’s gone; but I don’t think he’s very likely to love us any too well, and he’ll make more trouble for us, yet. We must watch out for him.” “We sure will.” * * * * * While they were talking, and walking up to the Lieutenant’s room with Poodle, Left Eared Dongan was gathering the class for a special meeting. The regular class-meeting to elect a president had been postponed till after the Thanksgiving game. Mousey Tincom and others had insisted on the postponement, fearing that Bluggy Blodgett, the class bully, might get the office. Hike and Poodle did not know that there was a meeting. Left Eared Dongan had been expected to nominate Bluggy Blodgett. He jumped to his feet before Mousey Tincom could, rushed up to the blackboard facing the class-room where the meeting was held, and shouted, “I nominate the best man in the class.” Then, with a large flourish, he wrote: “Hike G.” “I move to make that unanimous,” shouted Biffer Townsend, and half the class yelled “Second t’ motion.” It was carried, with even Bluggy Blodgett yelling with the rest. When Hike and Poodle left the Lieutenant’s room, they were met by most of the class, on their way to the bonfire to celebrate the San Dinero victory. As they marched, they sang to the tune of “Son of a Gambolier,” a new song which Left Eared Dongan had written on the blackboard: “Oh, you can have most any foolish president you like, But we’re a brainy bunch of Sophs., and we have chosen _Hike_! Just watch our speed—it’s us that’s aviating down the pike, Get wise, be still, and listen to our ‘_hike_, Hike, hike!’” That night the team met, and elected Snifty Carter, from the Junior class, for the next year’s captain. Snifty met Hike after the great bonfire, late in the evening, and said, “Hike, I hope you’ll be on the job footballing, next year.” “I sure will,” promised Hike. “Because,” added Snifty, “the whole school will expect you to win the game for us.” “Aw—” was all Hike could say, in astonished protest. But he looked forward to a great spring, with the track-team, and a great fall to come. A LETTER FROM POODLE “A. READER, ESQ.: “Some think I ought to be in on the end of this, too, but I don’t care so awfully much just so Hike has all the credit that is coming to him! But I might say that I think I’ll land anyway one poem a month from now on, and maybe some stories, in the school mag. “It’s a January evening, and old Hike is studying hard, in his Morris chair, on the other side of the fireplace from where I’m writing. He’s been hitting the books hard, and I guess he’ll make up that Latin.