commented Tom. “Remember the time I smuggled the puppy into the physiology class?”

“I should say we did!” laughed Andy.

“And how he yelped when I pinched his tail that stuck out from under your coat,” added Ben. “Say, it was great!”

“I’ll never forget how old Pop Swann looked up over the tops of his glasses,” put in Frank.

“Dr. Morrison was mighty decent about it when he had me up on the carpet, too,” added Tom. “I thought sure I was in for a wigging—maybe a suspension, and I couldn’t stand that, for dad had written me one warning letter.

“But all Prexy did was to look at me in that calm, withering, pitying way he has, and then say in that solemn voice of his: ‘Ah, Hatfield, I presume you are going in for vivisection’ Say, you could have floored me with a feather. That’s the kind of a man Dr. Morrison is.”

“Nobody else like him,” commented Andy, with a sigh.

“Oh, well, if any of us go to Yale, or Princeton, or Harvard, I guess we’ll find some decent profs. there,” spoke Ben. “They can’t all be riggers.”

“Sure not,” said Andy. “But those colleges will be a heap sight different from Milton.”

“Of course! What do you expect? This is a kindergarten compared to them!” exclaimed Frank.

“But it’s a mighty nice kindergarten,” commented Tom. “It’s like a school in our home town, almost.”

“I sure will be sorry to leave it,” added Andy. “But come on; we’ll never get to Kelly’s at this rate.”

The sun was sinking behind the western hills in a bank of golden and purple clouds. Two miles yet lay between the lads and their objective point—the odd little oyster and chop house so much frequented by the students of Milton. It was an historic place, was Kelly’s; a beloved place where the lads foregathered to talk over their doings, their hopes, their fears, their joys and sorrows. It was an old-fashioned place, with little, dingy rooms, come upon unexpectedly; rooms just right for small parties of congenial souls—with tall, black settles, and tables roughened with many jack-knifed initials.

“We can cut over to the road, and get there quicker,” remarked Andy, after a pause. “Suppose we do it. I don’t want to get back too late.”

“All right,” agreed Tom. “I want to write a couple of letters myself.”

“Oh, ho! Now who’s got a girl?” demanded Chet, suspiciously.

“Nobody, you amalgamated turnip. I’m going to write to dad, and settle this college business. Might as well make a decision now as later, I reckon.”

“We’ll have to sign soon, or it will be too late,” spoke Chet. “Those big colleges aren’t like the small prep. schools. They have waiting lists—at least for the good rooms in the campus halls. That’s where I’d like to go if I went to Yale—in Lawrance Hall, or some place like that, where I could look out over the campus, or the Green.”

“There are some dandy rooms in front of Lawrance Hall where you can look out over the New Haven Green,” put in Ben. “I was there once, and how I did envy those fellows, lolling in their windows on their blue cushions, puffing on pipes and making believe study. It was great!”

“Making believe study!” exclaimed Andy. “I guess they do study! You ought to see the stiff list of stuff on the catalog!”

“You got one?” asked Chet.

“Sure. I’ve been doping it out.”

“I thought you said you hadn’t decided where to go yet,” remarked Frank.

“Well, I have,” returned Andy, quietly.

“You have! When, for the love of tripe? You said a while ago—”

“I know I did. But I’ve decided since then. I’m going to Yale!”

“You are? Good for you!” cried Tom, clapping his chum on the back with such energy that Andy nearly toppled over. “That’s the stuff! Rah! Rah! Rah! Yale! Bulldog!”

“Here! Cut it out!” ordered Andy. “I’m not at Yale yet, and they don’t go around doing that sort of stuff unless maybe after a game. I was down there about a month ago, and say, there wasn’t any of that ‘Rah-rah!’ stuff on the campus at all. But of course I wasn’t there long.”

“So that’s where you went that time you slipped off,” commented Chet. “Down at Yale. And you’ve decided to sign for there?”

“I have. It seemed to come to me as we walked down the hill. I’ve made my choice. I’m going to write to dad.”

They walked on silently for a few moments following Andy’s remarks.

“‘It was the King of France,
He had ten thousand men.
He marched them up the hill,
And marched them down again!’”

Thus suddenly quoted Chet in a sing-song voice, adding:

“If we’re going to get any grub at Kelly’s, it’s up to us to march down this hill faster than we’ve been going, or we’ll get left. That other crowd from Milton will have all the good places.”

“Come on then, fellows, hit her up!” exclaimed Frank. “Hep! Hep! Left! Left!” and they started off at a good pace.

They reached the country road that led more directly to Churchtown, and swung off along this. The setting sun made a golden aurora that June day, the beams filtering through a haze of dust. The boys talked of many things, but chiefly of the coming parting—of the colleges they might attend.

As they passed a farmhouse near the side of the road, and came into view of the barnyard, they saw two men standing beside a team of horses hitched to a heavy wagon. One was tall and heavily built, evidently the farmer-owner. The other was a young man, of about twenty-two years, his left arm in a sling.

The boys would have passed on with only a momentary glance at the pair but for something that occurred as they came opposite. They saw the big man raise a horse-whip and lash savagely at the young man.

The lash cracked like the shot of a revolver.

“I’ll teach you!” fairly roared the big man. “I’ll teach you to soldier on me! Playin’ off, that’s what you are, Link Bardon! Playing off!”

“I’m not playing off! My arm is injured. And don’t you strike me again, Mr. Snad, or I’ll——”

“You will, eh?” burst out the other. “You’ll threaten me, will you? Well, I’ll teach you! Tryin’ to pretend your arm is sprained so you won’t have to work. I’ll teach you! Take that!”

Again the cruel whip came down with stinging force. The face of the young man, that had flamed with righteous anger, went pale.

“Take that, you lazy, good-for-nothing!”

Again the whip descended, and the young man put up his uninjured arm to defend himself. The farmer rained blow after blow on his hired man, driving him toward a fence.

“Fellows! I can’t stand this!” exclaimed Andy Blair, with sudden energy. “That big brute is a coward! Are you with me?”

“We sure are!” came in an energetic chorus from the others.

“Then come on!” cried Andy, and with a short run he cleared the fence and dashed up toward the farmer, who was still lashing away with the horse-whip.

“Here! Quit that!” exclaimed Andy, panting a bit from his exertion. “Drop that whip!”

The farmer wheeled around, for Andy had come up behind him. Surprise and anger showed plainly on the man’s flushed face, and blazed from his blood-shot eyes.

“Wha—what!” he stammered in amazement.