For the thousandth time Poodle declared that Hike was intolerably rude to poor Mousey, and for the thousandth time Hike declared, “Yuh, I know I’m beastly to him, but if you’d ever come in from a dusty practise game and seen Mousey hanging around and admiring, standing there like he was waiting for a hand-out—just when you felt grouchy anyway, why you’d want to kill him. He’d be here all the time if—” Light, quick feet on the stairs, a tap at the door, and in came—Lieutenant Jack Adeler! Hike and Poodle arose and beat him on the back till he could scarcely breathe, half laughing and half crying with joy. “Yes,” he answered their questions, which were piled on him like a brick-wall falling, “I’ll be here all year. Want to make some experiments. The military part here won’t take much time. And I’ll have the pleasure of getting even with you two young fiends for mixing me up with Welch and Jolls. Oh, the way I’ll hector you on the parade-ground—! By the way, speaking of Jolls, his trial ought to come off pretty soon.” Then Messrs. Griffin and Darby suddenly changed from Santa Benicians to _very_ grown-up aviators, and plunged into a long talk with Jack Adeler. But when the Lieutenant had gone, when Taps had sounded and they were undressing, in the dark, they changed back into two very tired youngsters, horribly bored at the thought of being “jollied” all that year. They seemed to have guessed right. Though Hike was immediately tried out at half on the school team, for two weeks they had to keep to themselves as much as possible. The school wits found a hundred new ways of referring to aviation, every day. CHAPTER XVIII THE GREAT HAZING _Tune: Son of a Gambolier._ Oh, I’m an aviator, I’m a number seven slob, And when it comes to heroism, I am on the job. The only way that ordinary mutts can mix with me Is take me out and haze me till I lose my dignity. CHORUS: I’m a son of a son of a son of a son of a son of an aeronaut, And I have sworn to lie no more about the fights I’ve fought, And I’m so jolly thankful to the Seniors who have taught, I’m the son of a son of a son of a son of a son of an airy-naught! Oh, I’m so jolly thankful that these ordinary mutts Have spanked me good and plenty with my tetrahedral struts, And I have promised not to let my head get big again, When I go aviating on my airy aeroplane. Such was the song that sounded below the windows of Hike and Poodle, as they sat studying in their room, at ten of the evening. “This is getting to be too much,” growled Hike. “Some one’s going to get hurt.” Poodle looked at him shyly. He scarcely knew this savage, stern young man, this new Hike. There was a sound as of many boys talking all at once, below; then Pink Eye Morrison, president of the Senior Class, rushed in. “The Seniors below,” he panted. “You fellows are to come down and get hazed—good and plenty!”