“Say, this is a little too much,” said Hike, quietly. “I’m getting pretty fairly tired of this being kidded for having done fairly decent work with a machine that most of you fellows would be scared to look at. Come ahead, you fellows, and I’ll lick as many of you as I can. But hazed—_us, Sophomores_? No, indeed. Ring off—you’ve got the wrong number.” “Why, you poor nut—” began Pink Eye, when Poodle interrupted. “Say, Hike, you’ve got the wrong idea. This is a Hazing Extraordinary, isn’t it, Morrison?” Pink Eye nodded. Poodle went on: “Don’t you remember hearing about how a Sophomore got hazed by the Senior Class two years ago, because he was really a darn nice fellow, only everybody was kidding him, and the Seniors wanted the kidding to wind up in a grand jamboree, and then stop? Stop absolute. Ain’t that the idea here, Morrison?” “Of _course_,” snapped Pink Eye. “No more references to aviation after to-night unless you want them. Why, Hike, you young goat, do you suppose we’d honor you with a Hazing Extraordinary and take the trouble to stop all this kidding unless we liked you?” Hike held out his hand to Pink Eye, and gave him one of his rarest smiles—one of those smiles so filled with strength and kindness and affection that no one could resist. “I was a fool,” said he. “’S all right,” said Morrison. “Hustle up, you fellows, get into pink pajamas—or blue or something, if you haven’t got pink—and come on. The theory of a Hazing Extraordinary is that we crooly snatch you out of bed, see?” Below, the Seniors were singing the hazing-ditty again, and bellowing, “On with ’em. Where’s the victims. Hurry ’em, Pink Eye.” The Seniors were led by the most prominent boys in the class—fellows like Pink Eye, president of the class; the noble Taffy Bingham, champion wrestler of the school and right tackle of the school team; Gimlet Jones, the prize scholar, who would probably win the school scholarship, that year, and go to Yale; Bunk Tarver, football player and class clown; and big Bill McDever, captain of the school football-team. Finally, Hike and Poodle appeared below, followed by a crowd of under-classmen, wondering what was up; marveling at the hazing of Sophomores. The culprits were marched out to the open space behind Fig Tree Major, where the Senior Class formed in a ring. Behind them appeared the Juniors, with Sophomores at the rear, keeping the Freshmen back. Pink Eye Morrison had put on a foolish wig and a more foolish black gown, hastily made out of a deceased overcoat-lining. He sat on his haunches, the most dignified judge that ever scowled at a criminal. Taffy Bingham, the wrestler, was the State’s Attorney; Gimlet Jones, Santa Benicia’s prize scholar, the attorney for the prisoners.