r, the
lock grated with the cautious insertion of a key, and the mob rushed in;
Jimmie had forgotten the passkey, for whose possession Pellams had held
up the Jap.

"Ah, say, get out of here, you fellows. I'm digging."

"I know it. And you're going to stop. Gentlemen adventurers"--here
Pellams mounted a chair--"James Mason, our small but thirsty friend, has
sourball. Now, I ask you, gentlemen, what is the universal cure for his
affliction?"

"Beer!" The unanimity of the response would have done credit to a Roman
mob.

"Quite right ye are, my merry retainers. And will ye, in loving kindness
to him, apply that remedy?"

"We will! We will!"

"Well said, me liegemen. Jimmie, move along!" and Pellams fell to
strolling around the room and criticizing its collection of stolen signs
with the air of one who has discharged his business and stands at ease.
The rest threw themselves on the man with sourball and were for tearing
off his outer garments and forcing on his sweater, but Lyman by some
occult means of his own got the boy aside. One never knew how Frank
managed the gang; it was always that way; his methods never obtruded
themselves, all one saw was results.

"I wouldn't if I were you," said he; "they won't understand it, and it
doesn't do you any good--this sort of thing. Better jolly up."

The Sophomore did not speak; he only shook his head.

"I know what you're holding back for," went on the other; "but going
down there isn't the same sort of thing; really, it isn't."

Jimmie started a little, inside, as he realized for the first time the
base of his aversion to dragging himself out on the trip. He turned,
half-mechanically, and began tugging at his collar. That Phantom should
never come between him and one single thing he wanted to do. It might
embitter it all, but it could never prevent him from the outward act. He
threw his tie over a chair and took off his coat with unnecessary
emphasis in the movement. Ten minutes later he was treading the primrose
path of dalliance with an arm around "Nosey" Marion.

There was a cool breeze off the bay, bringing the scent of salt water
along with the odor of spruce-trees. A voice from the upper regions of
the Hall called out to the cavalcade, crawling through the half-darkness
along the road:

"He-ea, you! Bring some back for me!"

A dozen windows slammed open at that, and twenty throats took up the
noise. Pellams was for answering, but Lyman discreetly checked him