"I got it," said Blinky in husky accents, with his hand behind his back. "What's youse got?" "The cash is here all right. How many bots did you bring?" Blinky slowly brought forward one bottle. "What, only one?" said Slops the bacchanalian, in dismay. "All's left," said Blinky, with a double meaning. "How much?" "One dollar." "What! You robber!" "Take it or leave it--don't care," said Blinky, who sat down and hugged the bottle to him like a baby. They paid the extortion and slunk back. "We'll have to cook up a story," said Dink. "Sure!" "Still, it's beer." "It certainly is!" "It's expulsion if we're caught." "And a penal offense, don't forget that!" Somewhat consoled by this delightful thought they cautiously tapped on Fatty Harris' window and, removing their boots, tiptoed upstairs like anarchists with a price on their heads. In Stover's room three more desperate characters were waiting about the chafing dish, Fatty Harris, Slush Randolph and Pee-wee Norris, all determined on a life of crime--but all slightly nervous. The Tennessee Shad, rolled into a ball on his bed, was venting his scorn with an occasional snore. Stover held up the lonely bottle. "Is that all?" exclaimed the three in indignant whispers. "All, and mighty lucky to get that," said Dink valiantly. "We were chased by the constable, terrific time, pounced on us, desperate struggle, just got away with our skins." At this a distinct snort was heard from the direction of the Tennessee Shad's bed. "I say, isn't it rather--rather dangerous?" said Pee-wee Norris, with his ears horribly strained. "What of it?" "Suppose he goes to the Doctor?" "We'll have to take the risk." "I say, though, let's be quick about it." An uncongenial chill began to pervade the room. Fatty Harris, as master cook, visibly hastened the operations. The Tennessee Shad was now heard to say in a mumbled jumble: "Hurrah for crime! Never say die, boys--dead game sports--give us a drink, bartender!" The revelers stood at the bed looking wrathfully down at the cynic, who snored heavily and said drowsily: "Talks in his sleep, he talks in his sleep, poor old Pol!" "Don't pay any attention to him," said Stover angrily. "He's a cheap wit. What are you doing at the door, Pee-wee?" "I'm listening," said Norris, turning guiltily. "You're afraid!" "I'm not; only let's hurry it up." Fatty Harris, watching the swirling yellow depths of the rabbit with evident anxiety, emptied a third of the beer into it and held out the bottle, saying: "Here, sports, fill up the glasses with the good old liquor." When the three glasses and two toothmugs had received their exact portion of the bitter stuff, which had been allowed to foam copiously in order to eke out, the five desperadoes solemnly touched glasses and Slops Barnett, who had visited in Princeton, led them in that whispered toast that is the acme of devilment: