“And now, fellows,” said Edwards, “we must give three cheers before we disperse. Why don’t you take off your masks? Don’t you know that you run unnecessary risks by wearing them?” Percy Randall and another student were busy at the touch holes of the cannons. Percy looked up. “Hold on, fellows; the fun hasn’t more than begun,” he cried. “What do you mean?” asked Ray Wendell in wonderment. Percy stood up and scratched a match. “I propose a volley of cheers for our successful campaign,” he cried. I started to cheer, but I found my voice drowned out in a deafening blare of tin horns which every man drew from his pocket. This was a totally unexpected development, for a horn spree was the last thing I anticipated at that time. Still we were in for it now, and I was disposed to enjoy the fun while it lasted. Before my ears had become accustomed to the hideous twang of the horns another shock occurred. Percy Randall leaned forward with his match. There was a sharp sputtering for a few seconds, then two vivid, blinding sheets of flame, and the double roar of the two cannons, which at some time during the trip home on the Geraldine had been loaded by Percy’s directions. It was the first time in many years that the voice of the old artillery had been heard, but it seemed as if all the force reserved during that long spell of silence was concentrated in this one blast, for the ground under us fairly shook, while we could hear windows rattling and crashing in every direction. Immediately everybody took to his heels, and as the roar of the cannons rolled away, the sharp nasal bray of horns reëchoed from every quarter of the campus, dying away in the recesses of the various buildings whither the crowd had taken flight. It was “every man for himself” in that scramble, and for my part, the shortest route to my room in Colver Hall was what suited me best, so off I dashed. Unfortunately I had to pass near the college offices. I thought I was in safety, and was about to pass my entry when a rough hand was laid on my collar. I was brought to a sudden and unexpected stop, the shock of which nearly jerked my head off. I struggled to free myself, but in vain, so, turning about to see who my captor was, I discovered to my dismay that I was standing face to face with proctor Murray. CHAPTER XII A PRISONER The fatal power and tenacity of proctor Murray’s grasp was known to every student of Belmont College, if not by personal experience, at least by reputation. From the moment I discovered that it was his hand upon my shoulder, I realized that further resistance would be worse than useless, so I stood perfectly still, and endeavored to accept the situation calmly. Still holding me firmly with one hand, he coolly scratched a match with the other, held it close to my face for an instant, and then extinguished it.