you weigh, old man?" he asked in an excited manner. There was a lull in the cheering; everyone seemed to be whispering and chatting nervously; some of those in the rear were laughing at what one of the Juniors was telling them.

"About one hundred and eighty-five pounds," said Young to his neighbor wondering who he was and what kind of a fellow.

"Good! I weigh a hundred and seventy-nine and a half, stripped, just now—go up, though, after training awhile. You play football, I suppose?"

Young had never seen real football played, but he did not like to say so—and he did not have to, for just then another cheer was demanded and they both joined in with the rest of the class, shouting with all their might, and then the command to march was given, and the line started forward, irregularly at first and with much treading upon heels, until one of the Juniors shouted, "Spread out, fellows, spread out; you'll have" (laughing) "all the close rank work you want when you get on the campus," and then someone put them in step by saying, "Hep!... Hep!... Hep!" And when the column was in step, a Junior in the rear who had a high tenor voice started up the famous marching time of

"Hoorah! Hoorah!
The flag that set us free.
Hoorah! Hoorah!
The year of jubilee."

only the words they used were:

"Nassau! Nassau!
Ring out the chorus free—
Nassau! Nassau!
Thy jolly sons are we.
Care shall be forgotten, all our sorrows flung away,
While we are marching through Princeton!"

"Oh, we'll do 'em!" remarked Young's comrade, excitedly, at the conclusion of the song.

Young wanted to say something in reply, but he did not know who "they" were or how they were to be done. So he only said, "Think so?"

"Dead easy—we outnumber them three to two."

Soon the main street, Nassau Street, was reached; and by that time, after much cheering and many "This ways," nearly two hundred Freshmen were in the ranks and shouting like good fellows.

The line turned down toward the main college gate.

Along both sides of the streets walked a crowd of onlookers: upper-classmen in flannel clothes seeming mildly interested in what was to them an old story; little town boys in short trousers shouting "Ray for de Freshmans!" and looking forward with excitement to what was never an old story to them. The shopkeepers were standing in their doors to see them pass. Upstairs windows opened and heads stuck out.

In a pause between the verses of a song Young heard, far off in the distance, the quick eager: "Ray! Ray! Ray! Tiger, siss, boom, ah!" of the short cheer. It was much more sharply and crisply given than the cheers he had joined in, and on the end of it came the numerals of the Sophomore class.

Now, he had understood vaguely that there was to be some sort of contest between his class and the Sophomores, but this blatant, confident cheer away off somewhere in the distant, indefinite darkness, gave him a start; just for a moment he felt frightened. He was not the only one.

"Oh, we'll do 'em," said the man next to Young.

"Dead easy!" said Young, this time.

They had passed the first gate by the Dean's house and were marching in good order down the broad old street.

"Column right—wheel!" said the Junior in front, and they turned in at the carriage entrance.

Before he quite realized it Young found himself walking on the soft, green turf of the campus itself.

The singing had ceased. The talking stopped now. Nothing could be heard but the "tr'm, tr'm, tr'm," of many feet taking many steps at the same instant.

"Halt!" said one of the Juniors in a whisper. "Form close ranks—lock step." The long line began to concentrate.

Another of the Juniors went down the line saying, in a low voice, "Put your caps in your pockets, fellows—put your caps in your pockets, fellows." Many of them had already done so. Some only pulled theirs on tighter.

"Are you ready back there, Tommy?" asked one of the Juniors.

"Yes, Jack."

The man hugging Young's arm whispered, "That's Jack Stehman, the great tackle."

"Oh," said Young, looking admiringly at the powerful-looking football hero.

"Now then, fellows," Stehman was saying to the Freshmen, "the Sophomores are lined up and waiting for you over by West College; one of our men has just come from there. You fellows are nearly fifty men stronger than they are. Stick together and you'll rush them dead easy."

At this four or five excited Freshmen started a faint cheer but it was crushed down by several vigorous "sishes!" "Keep your mouths shut," said one of the other Juniors.

"Now, follow me and, mind, stick together, whatever you do. Stick together!" This was big Jack Stehman again. Young admired him; hoped to become well acquainted with him some day.

The compact mass moved forward, their bodies close together and their legs and feet beneath taking quick short steps as best they could. It was like a huge dark centipede, except that centipedes probably do not step on so many of their heels at once.

On either side walked upper-classmen, some calmly smoking pipes as if there was nothing to be excited about, laughing lightly and making remarks. The way they looked at Young and his companions reminded him of his father and the other farmers judging live stock at the county fair.

"Pretty good looking Freshman class, Harry," said one fellow whose face Young couldn't see in the dark.

"Um," said the one addressed, nodding. "There's a fellow, looks——" Young lost the rest of it.

Up the gravel driveway the black mass crept toward the opening between the dark Library and darker Dickinson Hall.

Young was grabbing tight hold of the Freshman in front of him and wondering what would come next.

They were just through the opening and were about to turn toward the quadrangle. Suddenly there was a rumbling sound, like distant thunder.

Then shouted Jack Stehman, the big Junior: "Here they come! here they come. Now then keep together, fellows, keep together, keep together—come at 'em hard!"

Now the many feet of the Freshman column began to rumble. On they plunged, increasing their speed every second.

The spectators on either side sprang back. On came the Sophomores with still more momentum, showing a front row of hardened football men with football suits. A distant light shone on them and Young had a vivid glimpse of their determined faces.

Then, with the Juniors crying, "Come faster! come faster! stick together!" and the Seniors who coached the Sophomores shouting, "Rush 'em, rush 'em, rush 'em!" the two lines came together.

Young was conscious of a dull crunching "thrump." It sounded as if bones were breaking, though none was. Then he saw the two rows in front of him lifted up in mid-air. The front rows of Sophomores were squeezed up also. It was like colliding trains of cars. Young could see them up there struggling, could hear them straining and grunting and pushing and shouting while the distant light gleamed on their dishevelled hair.

"Now! now! that's the way—now we're getting them!" one of the Juniors was shrieking.

"That's the way!" yelled another.

"Stick together!" roared Stehman, jumping in and