“Now for the aeroplane,” shouted the Seniors. Chairs and sheets and golf sticks and a chafing dish and an automobile horn and a whole junk shop of other foolish things were handed into the center of the ring. Out of these, Hike and Poodle had to construct an aeroplane, and show how to fly it, while the Seniors let loose with all the insults of which, just then, they were able to think: “How does the Army get along without you? How soon do you start teaching Captain Beck how to fly? When’s Vedrines goin’ to learn from you? Did you leave any air for the rest of us to fly in?” When, finally, Hike and Poodle went solemnly around the Seniors and begged pardon of each for having dared to be born, the Hazing Extraordinary broke up joyously, with whoops and cheers—good, hearty, admiring cheers—for Hike and Poodle, in which the other classes joined. Most of the boys headed for their room and bedsteads. Most—not all. Hike and Poodle, Taffy Bingham and Bunk Tarver of the Senior Class, and five others—two Sophomores and three Seniors—stood quietly waiting, under Fig Tree Major. When the Yard was quiet, and the lights had most of them gone out, Hike and Taffy quietly advanced into the center of the open space and shook hands. Bunk Tarver, appointed referee, remarked, “As I get it, you two nuts want to fight because Taffy lost his head over Gimlet’s renigging on the trial and slapped Griffin. Now, understand, there’s to be no bad blood after this fight. This ends the whole thing, right now. One minute rounds and one minute rest between. No clinching. GO AHEAD!” Just then happened the most surprising thing of all the many night fights that the wise old Fig Tree Major had seen beneath its crown. Hike Griffin had been doing things rather different from the ordinary Santa Benicia ways, all summer. He had been working against and with a bunch of men who hit hard and quickly. So, instead of the timid circling with which an under-classman usually began a fight with a Senior, Hike waded in at once. No sparring—simply a quick right swing to the point of Taffy’s jaw which jolted him terrifically. The wrestler, used to taking it more easily, made a foolish pat at the air, and got a rib-roaster for his pains. Then Hike bored in with a cruel blow he had learned in boxing with Jack Adeler. He swung for Taffy’s jaw, apparently missed, and brought back his right with a back-hand which brought Taffy staggering to his knees, just as Bunk Tarver shouted “Time.” Taffy rose slowly, and Bunk declared, “Fight’s over. No use going on with it. Griffin, you’re all to the good. Taffy, old man, sorry, but you’ll have to apologize.” Taffy started to growl a protest at the decision, but Bunk cut in, “I’m referee.” “That’s right,” declared Pink Eye Morrison. “Well,” Taffy rowed, “I ain’t going to apologize—”