"See here, Freshman," cried the little Sophomore, in an amazed tone, "didn't you hear me tell you to take off your hat?" He had a large, sneering mouth, and he constantly tried to say sarcastic things. He held his chin elevated, as if to make himself a little taller, and the big Freshman, looking down at him, thought how he would like to pick him up and spank him. The Freshman had no intention of taking off his hat. Perhaps the Sophomore knew what he was thinking; at any rate, he stepped up close to him, and shaking a finger under his face, he snarled out, "You big, green Freshman from Squeedunk, you're the freshest one I've seen yet. We'll give you just five seconds to take off that ugly hat, and if you don't----" "Look out--look out! there comes Matt," in a quick, scared voice, one of the others interrupted. Matthew Goldie, the famous old proctor, was sauntering down the walk wriggling his fingers, as was his habit, and looking apparently in the other direction. This was also his habit. Even in those days, before hazing was abolished by the undergraduate vote, when it was thought, even by the Faculty, that hazing had its redeeming features, it was a rather reckless proceeding for a crowd of Sophomores to take a Freshman in hand on the front campus in broad daylight and in plain sight of the Dean's house. The small Sophomore's pipe was not two inches from the Freshman's face when the warning was sounded and Matt Goldie was coming straight down the walk toward him, and yet, to the surprise of all, he went on in the same earnest manner, only now he was saying: "I tell you, my dear sir, you will thank me all your life if you join Whig Hall. Why, there is no comparing the two literary societies. Now, just look at the records of the past years: In the first place, Whig Hall was founded by President James Madison when he was a student here"----and then the small Sophomore went glibly on with the arguments the Whig men usually employ when claiming superiority to their rival society, Clio Hall. Matthew Goldie had approached, come even with the group and passed by, oblivious of its existence, apparently. But the Sophomores knew he was not so oblivious as he looked, so they began to move off. "Good-by, Freshman," they said, laughingly, "sorry we have to leave you so soon. Come on, Channing." But Channing lingered a moment. "What's your name?" he demanded The Freshman thought it was none of this fellow's business, but he wanted to show he was not afraid. "Young," he said. "Your initials?" "My name is William Young, if you want to know," answered the Freshman, decisively. "Willie, eh?" Those of the others who were near enough to hear laughed at this. "Well, you are rather old to be called Young--Willie Young, especially. Hereafter you shall be known as 'Deacon Young.'" "Aw, come on, Chan," called the others.