It was Ted Trafford and Joe Leslie, the latter senior class president, who finally, calling for volunteers, attempted to put an end to hostilities. It was no easy task, however, for while many of the belligerents were fighting for the sheer love of it, keeping their tempers in check, there were others who were mad clear through and who had to be literally dragged apart. Pop Driver performed lustily for the peace party, his simple way of tripping up one adversary and holding the other proving peculiarly efficacious. But at that it is doubtful if the seniors could have ended the battle for a long time if Guy Murtha, who had intercepted a blow meant for someone else and was ruefully nursing a bruised cheek, had not hit on the expedient of raising the warning cry of “_Faculty, fellows, faculty!_” Fortunately, there was no truth in the announcement, but it did the business. Panting for breath, upper and lower middlers drew apart, searching the half-darkness with anxious gaze, ready to disappear as soon as they discovered from which direction danger threatened. Leslie took advantage of the lull to read the riot act and his words of counsel had effect. Upper middle bitterly laid the onus on lower middle and lower middle indignantly returned the charge. “Never mind who started it,” said Leslie impatiently. “You fellows beat it to your rooms before you get caught. You’re a lot of silly idiots to do a thing like this, anyway, and it would serve you all right if you got what you deserve. Hanrihan, you ought to know better than to let this happen!” “Someone jumped on me,” replied Tom Hanrihan cheerfully. “I didn’t start it, Joe.” “Well, get away from here before anything happens. Come on, seniors.” Nursing bruised faces and knuckles, holding handkerchiefs to bleeding noses, the participants in the recent fracas began to disperse, slowly, however, since neither side wished to be the first to withdraw. Still, the incident would have been closed there and then had not the juniors seen fit to throw open the gymnasium door at that moment and burst triumphantly forth. That was too much for the sore and smarting lower middlers to endure with equanimity. There was a murmur of displeasure and then a howl of rage and the lower middlers surged up the steps and literally crushed the juniors back through the portals. “You like it so well in there you can stay there!” they shouted. “It’s all night for you fellows! You don’t get out! Keep ’em in, lower middle!”