“Indeed yes. The old Romans weren’t in it with these chaps. They don’t recline at table, but make their table on the recline! Ha! Ha! Joke! Everybody laugh!” There was a grim silence, at which the Seniors seemed surprised. They looked around at the banqueters. “Well, why don’t you laugh?” demanded Ward. “Don’t you Freshies know what’s good for you?” “Ha! Ha!” burst out Bill, as much in relief at not finding McNibb in their midst, as at the alleged joke. “Laugh!” commanded Merton sternly. “Laugh!” ordered Ward sharply. It was instruction that could not be disobeyed, for the Freshmen, under certain circumstances, were by the unwritten, but none the less stringent rules of the school, bound to do certain things commanded by their class superiors. Thereupon there ensued a series of snickers, more or less forced. “Not so loud!” ordered Merton. “Or you _will_ have McNibb here. Sorry if we gave you fellows heart-failure, but we smelled out this little feed, and thought we’d better show you how easy it is to get caught. Pass the cheese.” “And I’ll have some of those pickled lambs tongues,” added Ward. “I say, boys, you _do_ know how to get up a grub-fest. Who’s doing?” “The Smith boys,” murmured Whistle-Breeches. “Might have known,” declared Merton. “Say, you fellows are cutting things loose at Westfield. Well, it’s good for the old school. Here, Ward, are some prime macaroons.” The seniors helped themselves and each other to what was best on the table, making more or less funny remarks, while their unwilling hosts looked on, not daring, because of another unwritten law, to eat with them. “Here, get busy, you fellows,” ordered Ward. “Pass things up toward this end. We’re hungry, and it isn’t often that you have two noble Roman senators to grace your banquets. Get busy.” “What appetites!” murmured Cap in whispered admiration. “I thought I could eat, but they have me beaten a mile.” “Never mind, as long as it wasn’t McNibb. They’re welcome to all that’s left—we had a good share,” spoke Bill. The Seniors seemed to be having a good time, but they could not keep on eating, and even in their hearts was the fear lest they be caught. So, with a mock farewell, they took their departure, promising to send some of their fellows around to enjoy the feast of good things. But no more of the fourth-year men arrived, due to the fact, probably, that the meeting at which were the entire faculty, was nearly at an end, and soon the college and the grounds would be infested by professors. Then, too McNibb might come around at any moment. “Hurry, fellows,” suggested Bill and his brothers. “Eat what’s left and then cut out of here. It _might_ be McNibb next time.” “Say, I thought it was all up with us, when that knock came,” remarked Pete. “Same here,” added Whistle-Breeches. “Are there any stuffed olives left?” “Nary a one,” answered Cap. “Those chaps stuffed themselves on ’em.” “Stuffed Seniors instead of stuffed olives,” observed Bill grimly.