about the room till he finally felt
himself slugged under the ear and sent flying over a chair, to land in a
heap in one corner of the room. He sat up and held his gloved hand to
his ear, which was ringing with a hundred clanging bells, while he
stared astounded at his roommate.

"Wow!" he gurgled. "What have I been up against? Are you a prize
fighter in disguise?"

That experience was enough to satisfy him that Frank Merriwell knew a
great deal more than he did about boxing.

As Frank sat by his window listening to the singing, on the evening that
this story opens, he was wondering where Harry could be, for his
roommate had been away since shortly after supper.

Frank knew the merry singers were sophomores, the malicious and
unrelenting foes of all freshmen. He would have given not a little had
he been able to join them in their songs, but he knew that was not to be
thought of for a moment.

As he continued to listen, a clear tenor voice struck into that most
beautiful of college songs when heard from a distance:

"When the matin bell is ringing,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
From my rushy pallet springing,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
Fresh as the morning light forth I sally,
With my sickle bright thro' the valley,
To my dear one gayly singing,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o."

Then seven or eight strong musical young voices came in on the warbling
chorus, and the boy at the window listened enchanted and enraptured,
feeling the subtle charm of it all and blessing fortune that he was a
youth and a student at Yale.

The charm of the new life he had entered upon was strong, and it was
weaving its spell about him--the spell which makes old Yale so dear to
all who are fortunate enough to claim her as their _alma mater_. He
continued to listen, eagerly drinking in the rest of the song as it came
through the clear evening air:

"When the day is closing o'er us,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
And the landscape fades before us,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
When our merry men quit their mowing,
And along the glen horns are blowing,
Sweetly then we'll raise the chorus,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o."

The warbling song died out in the distance, there was a rush of feet
outside the door, and Harry, breathless and excited, came bursting into
the room.

"I say, old man," he cried, "what do I think?"

"Really, I don't know," laughed Frank. "What do you think?"

"I--I mean wh-what do you think?" spluttered Harry.