kling that dummy arrangement. I'll be taking falls out of it all
by myself when the Yates game is going on. Who invented that
thing, anyhow?"

But, nevertheless, Joel's spirits were very much better when the two
lads reached the room and West had turned on the soft light of the
argand. And taking their books in hand, and settling comfortably back in
the two great cozy armchairs, they were soon busily reading.

Hazing has "gone out" at Harwell, and so, when at about nine the two
boys beard many footfalls outside their door, and when in response to
West's loud "Come" five mysterious and muffled figures in black masks
entered they were somewhat puzzled what to think.

"March?" asked a deep voice.

"Yes," answered Joel with a wondering frown.

"West?"

"Yep. What in thunder do you want? And who in thunder are you?"

"Freshies, aren't you?" continued the inexorable voice. The maskers had
closed and locked the door behind them, and now stood in rigid
inquisitorial postures between it and the table.

"None of your business," answered West crossly. "Get out, will you?"

"Not until our duties are done," answered the mask. "You are freshies,
nice, new, tender little freshies. We are here to initiate you into the
mysteries of the Sacred Order of Hullabalooloo. Stand up!" Neither
moved; they were already standing, West puzzled and angry, Joel
wondering and amused.

"Well, sit down, then," commanded the voice. Joel looked meaningly at
Outfield, and as the latter nodded the two rushed at the members of the
Sacred Order of Hullabalooloo. But the latter were prepared. Over went
the nearest armchair, down from the wall with a clatter came a rack of
books, and this way and that swayed the forms of the maskers and the
two roommates. The battle was short but decisive, and when it was done,
Joel lay gasping on the floor and Outfield sprawled breathless on
the couch.

"Will you give up?" asked the first mask.

"Yes," growled West, and Joel echoed him.

"Then you may get up," responded the mask. "But, mind you, no tricks!"
Joel thought he heard the sound of muffled laughter from one of the
masks as he arose and arranged his damaged attire. "Freshman March will
favor us with a song," announced the mask.

"I can't sing a word," answered Joel.

"You must. Hullabalooloo decrees it."

"Then Hullabalooloo can come and make me," retorted Joel stubbornly.

"What," asked the mask in a deep, grewsome voice, "what is the penalty
fo