"Oh, we could get more H{2}O if we could find their togs," spoke another. Just then another second-year youth came along. "I know where their clothes are," he said. "In the closet at the end of the hall. Langridge----" "Shut up!" cried Gladdus. "Come on, fellows!" called Fenmore. "We'll soak 'em good." Sid groaned as the sophomores released him and Tom and made a run for the closet. "We'd ought to have scattered 'em," he said. "Now we'll have to wear wet duds to chapel to-morrow. We can't go in these," and he looked at his dripping garments--clothes in which he did cross-country running and played tennis--old and somewhat ragged and muddy habiliments. "Did you hear what that soph said?" demanded Tom. "You mean----" "I mean about Langridge. He gave us away. He told them where our clothes were; the mean sneak!" "That's right," chimed in Sid. "That's what he was doing up here--spying on us. Oh, I'll pay him back all right!" "So will I!" declared Tom fervently as a triumphant shout down the corridor announced that their clothes had been discovered. The garments, dripping wet and all out of shape, were thrown into their room a little later. "Well, wouldn't that put your nerves on the gazabo!" exclaimed Sid disgustedly. "Oh, Langridge, I'll have it in for you!" The hazing went on until after midnight and then the dormitory quieted down. Scarcely a freshman escaped and those who absented themselves from their rooms were due to be put on the grill later. Tom and Sid sat up late, wringing as much of the water as they could from their clothes and drying them somewhat by inserting an electric light bulb in the arms of the coats and the legs of the trousers. Fortunately their bedding was not wet or the boys would have passed a miserable night. As it was they did not have a good one, and they arose early to hang their moist clothes out of the window to let the morning sun finish the work of drying. But they were not the only ones in this plight, and it was a bedraggled lot of freshmen who appeared at chapel--that is, all but Langridge. He was spick and span as he always was, dressed in expensive clothes. "Didn't they get at you?" asked Sid as he and Tom caught up to the wealthy youth on the way to class. "Get at me?" "Yes, your clothes don't seem to have suffered." "Oh, this is another suit. They wet one for me, but I had this put away." "And no sneak went and told the sophs where you put it, did they?" asked Tom. "What's that?" asked Langridge quickly, and he turned a bit pale. "I say no sneak gave you away?" "I don't know what you mean," and Langridge turned aside. "Oh, yes, you do," said Sid quickly. "You know all right and we know, and what's more, you'll get what's coming to you all right. That's all from yours truly, but look out--that's all--look out, Fred Langridge!" "I don't know what you're talking about," was the cool retort, and then the students passed into the class room.