“Well, the way it looks to me,” Fred observed, “we simply _got_ to! From what they tell me, the freshmen got to do more than anybody. Every other Friday night, it's all freshmen and nothin' else. You get a postal card on Monday morning in your mail, and it says 'Assignment' on it, and then it's got written underneath what you haf to do the next Friday night--oration or debate, or maybe just read from some old book or something. I guess we got to stand up there and _try_, anyway.” “All right,” said Ramsey. “If they want me to commit suicide they can send me one o' their ole 'Assignments.' I won't need to commit suicide, though, I guess. All I'll do, I'll just fall over in a fit, and stay in it.” And, in truth, when he received his first “Assignment,” one Monday morning, a month later, he seemed in a fair way to fulfil his prophecy. The attention of his roommate, who sat at a window of their study, was attracted by sounds of strangulation. “What on earth's the matter, Ramsey?” “Look! Look at _this!_” Fred took the card and examined it with an amazement gradually merging into a pleasure altogether too perceptible: ASSIGNMENT TWELVE-MINUTE DEBATE, CLASS OF 1918. _Subject, Resolved:_ That Germany is both legally and morally justified in her invasion of Belgium. (Debaters are notified that each will be held strictly to the following schedule: Affirmative, 4 min., first. Negative, 4 min., first. Affirm, 2 min., second. Neg., 2 min., second.) Affirmative Negative R. MILHOLLAND, '18 D. YOCUM, '18 Concluding his reading, which was oral, the volatile Mitchell made use of his voice in a manner of heathenish boisterousness, and presently reclined upon a lounge to laugh the better. His stricken comrade, meanwhile, recovered so far as to pace the floor. “I'm goin' to pack up and light out for home!” he declared, over and over. And even oftener he read and reread the card to make sure of the actuality of that fatal coincidence, “D. Yocum, '18.” Chapter XI “If I _could_ do it,” he vociferated, “if I _could_ stand up there and debate one o' their darn ole debates in the first place--if I had the gall to even try it, why, my gosh! you don't suppose I'm goin' to get up there and argue with _that girl_, do you? That's a hot way to get an education: stand up there and argue with a girl before a couple o' hundred people! My _gosh!_” “You got to!” his prostrate companion cackled, weakly. “You can't get out of it. You're a goner, ole Buddy!” “I'll be sick. I'll be sick as a dog! I'll be sick as the sickest dog that ever--” “No use, ole man. The frat seniors'll be on the job. They'll know whether you're sick or not, and they'll have you there, right on the spot to the minute!”