In this desperate state desperate means were suggested by desperate characters. Stover should go the examination padded with interlinear, friendly aids to translation. A committee from outside should then convey the gigantic water cooler that stood in the hall to the upper landing. There it should be nicely balanced on the topmost step and a string thrown out the window, which, at the right time, should be pulled by three patriots from other Houses. The water cooler would descend with a hideous clatter, The Roman would rush from his study, and Stover would be given time to refresh his memory. Now, Stover did not like this plan. He had never done much direct cribbing, as that species of deception made him uncomfortable and seemed devoid of the high qualities of dignity that should attend the warfare against the Natural Enemy. At first he refused to enter this conspiracy, but finally yielded in a half-hearted way when it was dinned in his ears that he was only meeting The Roman at his own game, that he was being persecuted, that the school was being sacrificed for a private spite--in a word, that the end must be looked at and not the means and that the end was moral and noble. Thus partly won over, Dink entered The Roman's study that night with portions of interlinear translations distributed about his person and whipped up into a rage against The Roman that made him forget all else. The study was on the ground floor--the conspirators were to wait at the window until Stover should have received the examination paper and given the signal. The Roman nodded as Stover entered and, motioning him to a seat, gave him the questions, saying: "I sincerely hope, John, you are able to answer these." "Thank you, sir," said Stover with great sarcasm. He went to the desk by the window and sat down, taking out his pencil. There was a shuffling of feet and the scraping of a chair across the room. Stover looked up in surprise. "Take your time, John," said The Roman, who had risen. Then, without another word, he turned and left the room. Stover smiled to himself. He knew that trick. He waited for the sudden reopening of the door, but no noise came. He frowned and, mechanically looking at the questions, opened his book at the place designated. Then he raised his head and listened again. All at once he became very angry. The Roman was putting him on his honor--he had no right to do any such thing! It changed all their preparations. It was a low-down, malignant trick. It took away all the elements of danger that glorified the conspiracy. It made it easy and, therefore, mean. At the window came a timid scratching. Stover shook his head. The Roman would return. Then he would give the signal willingly. So he folded his arms sternly and waited--but no footsteps slipped along outside the door. The Roman had indeed left him to his honor.