“Not doing much?” demanded Bill. “Say, didn’t we put it all over the fellows who tried to haze us?” “Yes, for the time being, but they caught us later, and man-handled us about twice as badly as if we’d let them carry out the original program,” answered Cap musingly. “Well, didn’t we win the cane rush, and can’t we carry our sticks?” asked Pete as he mended a broken bat in anticipation of spring. “Yes,” admitted Cap, “we did win the rush, and we ought to have, for the Freshman class is big this term. That’s what I’m complaining of, it’s so big, and there are such a lot of fine fellows in it—not to mention ourselves—that it ought to do something to make its name known and feared for generations to come in the annals of Westfield.” “Meaning just what?” asked Whistle-Breeches, as he carefully marked a page in his algebra, lest he forget it. “Meaning that we ought to get busy. Now have you fellows anything to propose?” “We might paint the class numerals on the bell tower. That hasn’t been done in a couple of years I understand,” spoke Bill. “Childish,” was Cap’s objection. “Let’s go about town, changing all the signs in front of the stores,” came from Pete. “The Freshmen did that one year, and a chap with a pair of shoes to fix took them into a millinery joint. That would be sport.” “Regular high-school game,” was what Cap said. “That’s old. Think of something new.” “Besides, it isn’t altogether safe,” added Whistle-Breeches. “I tried to get some signs for my room the other day, and I did get a nice one from a ladies’ hair dressing parlor, but the proprietor turned out to be a man, and he spotted me. It cost me just seven-fifty for that sign. I could have had one made for a dollar. I’m not stuck on the sign racket. But, Cap, how about taking down the Junior flag pole? We could dig it up some dark night and shift it over to the football field.” “That wouldn’t be so bad,” remarked Cap condescendingly. “But I have what I think is a better plan. You know that big meteor, or piece of a meteor, that stands just off the middle of the main campus?” “The Senior stone?” asked Bill. “That’s it. Now what’s the matter with taking that and depositing it on the college front steps some dark night?” “What, move the Senior stone?” cried Whistle-Breeches aghast. “Exactly,” answered Cap, “it isn’t chained down; is it?” “No, but it weighs several tons,” declared Bill, “and besides it is almost sacred. Why, it’s a piece of a meteor that some polar discoverer brought back and presented to the school. The Seniors have always claimed it, and that’s where they hold their farewell doings every commencement.” “I know it,” said Cap. “All the more reason for moving it. The meteor must be tired of staying so long in one place. Besides we owe the Seniors something, for the way they turned in and helped the Juniors haze us this term.” “But—move the Senior stone!” gasped Pete, as if it was a crime unheard of.