On the office-walk was a huge tree called “Fig Tree Major.” Under this was held annually the solemn ceremony which officially began the hazing of the Freshmen. Each of the new students was put through his paces by a Master of Ceremonies and a Jester, while the class applauded. The Class President of the year before was usually chosen Master of Ceremonies, and this year Hike and Poodle had practically taken it for granted that they would be chosen Master and Jester. They were not. The class, marching across the Yard, did not call them out of their rooms. “Bluggy” Blodgett, center rush of the Freshman team of the year before, had been chosen Master; and Left Eared Dongan was Jester. It took some nerve for Hike and Poodle to go to the Fig Tree Celebration, after that cut, but they went—and nearly every classmate that spoke to them said something insulting about aviating. They were very unhappy as they sat in their room, after the Celebration and the first hazing of the Freshmen. “Gee,” growled Hike, “I wonder if they’re going to keep it up all year!” There was a modest tapping at the door. “Come in!” Mousey Tincom, a small wisp of a Sophomore, who played chess and studied hard and worshiped Hike as he did Napoleon (whom Mousey thought he himself resembled, and whom he sure didn’t resemble), came ambling in, sat carefully on the front edge of a large chair, and bleated: “Hello, fellows. I’m awful’ sorry about to-night.” “The class going to keep it up?” asked Poodle. “I’m afraid so. Left Ear was ’lowing we haven’t had so good an opening for jollying any one since the Flood. Say, I’ve got some news for you.” “All right. We can stand it.” (Hike was impolite. You had to be impolite to Mousey Tincom, or he would have stood about worshiping all the while.) “Well, you know Captain Thurbey got off’n the job as military instructor last spring, and they hadn’t appointed any one till just now. Now, I hear that Lieutenant Adeler of the Signal Corps—” “HurRAY!” shouted Poodle and Hike. “Go on.” “Well, he’s asked the President to transfer him here, so he can make some experiments with wireless and televises in the laboratory here. So I think he’ll be military instructor here. Is he nice?” “Slickest chap that ever woggled a saber, Jack Adeler is,” said Poodle, and Hike agreed “You bet.” “Well, say, some one was telling me—listen across there! they must be hazing the Freshmen good and plenty to-night; making them aviate, sounds like.” “Hang the aviating—though I suppose that’s what we’ll get right along,” sighed Poodle. “Gwan about Lieutenant Adeler.” “Well, some one was saying that he’s here already—came this afternoon, and that he’s staying at the Headmaster’s to-night.” “I wonder why he hasn’t let us know?” wondered Hike. “Probably wants to surprise us,” mused Poodle. “Well,” said Hike, “I’ve got some unpacking to do, Mousey.” “All right, so long you fellows. I’ll have to beat it and help the hazing, I guess.” And Mousey disappeared.