"Get them yourself!" retorted Preston, shoving Dillon into his bed-chamber. "It's a nice mess we're in with the 'Parson' gone." With a disgusted kick at Swipes he left him reeling desperately once more. Dillon swayed forward from the center of the room toward the doorway. He had heard as in a dream Spuddy's parting shot about fellows getting drunk and forgetting how to act. Suddenly the floor rose up and hit him on the nose, but the polished boards, so bright that he could see his face in them, fell back politely, leaving Swipes standing, looking helplessly about him. Every piece of furniture, bed, bureau, table and chairs, flew around and around him in the wildest disorder. His eyes reeled after them, in their flight through the room. Around and around past the bed to the door--once Swipes thought they would fly through. Bracing himself to catch the flying bed, he came up with a bang against the beveled mirror which broke and splintered under his weight. He was lying in the ruins when some one came and put him to bed. The regret of the little freshman the next morning when the dismal news of the missing president came to him was intensely genuine. They told him that the whole town had been searched, but that Graves had disappeared as completely as if he were no longer on the earth. * * * * * When Dan Jordan left Frederick Graves on the corner of Ithaca's main street, the young president began to search for his three classmates. Shorts and the other two must be somewhere near for Dan had told him so. He turned to the left, walking toward "Jay's" resort, where with his knowledge of the three little freshmen's habits, he would probably find them. It was a nuisance to be followed about and guarded as if he were a criminal, yet he would go through anything rather than be absent from the banquet. Suddenly he felt a bag thrown over his head and he was dragged completely off his feet. Then with much force he was shoved into a carriage, a heavy hand held over his mouth. He heard a pair of horses whipped into rapid motion. Frederick could not imagine in which direction he was being driven, for the constant turning of corners made it seem to the smothered boy that they were tearing around in a circle. Suddenly the vehicle came to a sharp standstill. During the ride his ankles and wrists had been tightly corded, and no sooner had the carriage halted than several pairs of hands carried him swiftly up a flight of stairs into a house and along a carpetless hall. When the cloth was removed from his head, Frederick was in the presence of two sophomores, Mathew Armstrong and Paul Howe. "Hard luck," said Armstrong, looking at Frederick with a grin. "Rather," he replied, glancing about. "But what can't be cured must be endured. If I am to stay here, I hope I am to be fed."