"A new guitar. Isn't she a beaut? Dad sent it to me for a birthday present!" Pole sat down on the bed, struck a few chords, and started a tune. "This place hasn't been stirred by any real music this year and I decided to cut loose to-night!" "Good heavens, Pole, why should you wish any of your discord on us? Why not rehearse in your own room?" "I wanted an audience," replied Pole, "Isn't this ditty pretty? I composed it myself." Potts, at this juncture, drew forth a Jews harp and added further discordant vibrations to the atmosphere. "I can beat you both!" grinned Judd, and diving for his suitcase he unearthed a mouth organ. In another moment he was reproducing the familiar strains of, "And When I Die." The effect was almost instantaneous. Doors swung open on the halls; students on the lower floors started coming up stairs; everything was in commotion. "Now you've done it!" reprimanded Cateye. "We'll have the whole dorm on us in two minutes! Pole, ring off on that guitar!" Shouts were already coming from outside. "Have a heart!" "What d'ya think this is, a music hall?" "That guy with the mouth organ is a coward. No one would dare make a noise like that in public!" "Let us in before we rip the panels out!" "Shall we let 'em in?" Pole asked, grinning. "I suppose we'll have to," Cateye muttered, "Or suffer the consequences." Pole slipped the bolt and the fellows packed the room. "Just as I surmised!" cried Oole, the first man in. "Pole and Potts, the inseparable noise makers! As a penalty I demand a duet!" "You bet! A duet!" voiced the rest. "What'll it be?" Pole queried, with an important air, "I can play anything you should choose to name, gentlemen." "Let's hear you render, The Last Rose of Summer." "In how many pieces do you wish it rendered?" asked Potts sweetly, striking the key on his Jews harp. "Makes no difference,--just so it's rendered." Pole and Potts now assumed a serious air, eyed each other soberly, and prepared to play. "One, two, three! One, two, three! One, two, three! Play!" cried Pole, waving his arms wildly. Potts started in but missed the key by at least three notes. Pole gave Potts a handicap, then started in to catch up. The discord was very displeasing. "Kill it!" "That's the last rose of summer that I want to hear!" "Enough!" Potts was forced to stop through laughing, but Pole kept on until strong hands compelled him to cease. "It's a pity you fellows can't appreciate real music," pouted Pole, "I'm severely wounded. I shall never play for you again." "Thank heaven!" breathed someone, evidently much relieved. "Who was that we heard tooting the mouth organ?" demanded Johnson, editor of the Bartlett College Weekly. "Rube's the guilty man," betrayed Pole, anxious to have another share his sorrows. "If they ask you to play, Rube, don't do it! I wouldn't play before such an unappreciative audience." "Come on, Rube, give us some music!"