d to speak to you for fear of being bitten!"

"In fact," said Dennis, with his sharp, little glance, "you are under
the gravest suspicion."

Seeing his secret in peril, Stover assumed a melancholy, injured air.

"You don't know what I've had to worry me," he said, looking out the
window, "family matters--financial reverses."

"Oh, I say, Dink, old boy," said the Tennessee Shad, in instant
contrition.

"You don't mean it's anything that might keep you from coming back
next year?" said Dennis, aghast. "Oh, Dink!"

"I had rather not talk about it," said Stover solemnly.

Dennis and the Shad were overwhelmed with remorse--they offered him at
once the Grand Marshalship, which he refused with still offended
dignity, but promised his fertile brain to the common cause.

Now Dink's sentimental education, which had progressed with a rush,
had just begun to languish on insufficiency of food and a little
feeling of staleness on having exhausted the one thousand and one
possible methods of saving a heroine's life and wringing the consent
of her parents.

He felt a species of guilt in the accusation of his roommate and a
sudden longing to be back among mannish pursuits. In an hour, with
delighted energy, he had organized the banner and effigy committees of
the demonstration and had helped concoct the fiery speech of protest
that Doc Macnooder, as spokesman, was solemnly pledged to deliver for
the embattled school.

Four hours later the Kennedy House, led by Toots Cortell and his
famous Confederate bugle, defiled and formed the head of the
procession. Each member carried a pole attached to which was some
article that had been wholly or partly shot to pieces. The Dickinson
contingent, led by Doc Macnooder, marched in a square, supporting four
posts around which ran a clothesline decked out with the dreadful
debris of the house laundry.

The Woodhull proudly bore as its battle flag a few strings of linen
floating from a rake, with this inscription underneath:

THE GRAND OLD SHIRT OF THE WOODHULL!
WASHED 16 TIMES AND STILL IN THE GAME!

Several poles, adorned with single hosing in the fashion of liberty
caps, were labeled:

WHERE IS MY WANDERING SOCK TO-NIGHT?

The Davis House was headed by Moses Moseby in a tattered nightshirt,
backed up by an irreverent placard:

HOLY MOSES!

But the premier exhibit of the parade was admitted by all to be the
Kennedy float, conceived and executed by the Honorable Dink Sto