NIGHT REVELLERS.
“Phi Theta Psi! Caw! Caw!
And oh! Phi Theta Psi!
Most glorious band
In all our land
Is, oh! Phi Theta Psi!”
It was ten o’clock at night when the fine old society song reverberated
along York Street under the elms.
The freshmen at Mrs. Henderson’s “select house of apartments for
students” heard the song, and it set their blood to bounding. They had
been waiting and expecting to hear it for nearly an hour.
“They’re coming!” was the cry.
Along the street from the opposite direction came another chorus!
“And Theta Psi had better hence,
Do da, do da;
For Beta Xi has got the fence,
Do da, do da day!
Oh, we’re bound to sing all night,
We’re bound to sing all day,
The glories of our Beta Xi
Forever and for ay!”
“Is the punch ready?”
“All ready,” answered the voice of Bruce Browning, who, along with
Merriwell and other juniors, had come down to stand by the “timid
freshmen” through the “frightful ordeal.”
It was a “wild and weird decoction” Browning had mixed in the great
punchbowl. A huge cake of ice was in the bowl, and it was floating in
dark, amber-colored liquid. The big junior had promised the freshmen
that he would give the sophomores something that would make them
“harmless.”
Diamond had tasted the punch. Immediately he howled “fire,” and asked
somebody to run to the nearest box and send in an alarm.
“If you would add some strychnine to it, Browning, it might improve the
flavor,” said Dismal Jones, with the utmost seriousness, apparently.
“I don’t think it would make it any more deadly!” exclaimed Diamond.
“Let Theta Psi and Beta Xi stand from under,” said Bruce, with a wild
flourish of the big ladle.
The freshmen were happy, but nervous. Some of them had been chosen for
Theta Psi and Beta Xi. They knew it, but as yet were not aware who
were to become the “victims.” The company of the juniors gave them
confidence. Little did they dream that not a few of the juniors had
been members of those very societies, and were there really for the
purpose of helping along the sophomores in their work.
When the first sound of singing was heard on the street the freshmen
were all agog. Cigars were flung aside, and there was a rush for the
windows.
Tramp! tramp! tramp! The steady, regular tread of heavy feet told of
the approach of the rival clans.
Looking from the windows, the freshmen saw two great gleaming balls
of fire advancing from opposite directions. These were locomotive
headlights carried in advance of the two bodies of sophomores. They
were symbolic of Diogenes searching for an honest man. With the aid of
these lanterns the sophomores sought out the freshmen in their studies
and conferred upon them the glorious election to the soph. societies.
It was an old custom, and had been some years in disuse because of the
opposition of the faculty. On the year of which I write, it was revived
again in defiance of all authorities, although the faculty had given
warning that it would not be tolerated.
The freshmen had been notified to get away from the big dormitories,
which the societies dared not approach, and assemble on York Street.
Certain ones had been given the tip to make Mrs. Henderson’s their
headquarters for the occasion. Some had taken heed to the tip, but
many, fearful of the consequence and not feeling certain of the
intention of the sophomores, had remained away.
It was a dangerous thing to do, for the leaders of the movement stood
in great danger of expulsion from college if they were found out.
“Here they come, boys!” cried one of the freshmen in the windows. “They
are both singing, and there is going to be a fight between them!”
“That’s where you show your freshness, young fellow,” said Jack
Diamond. “They all belong to the same class, and you couldn’t make them
fight.”
“Put out the lights, freshies!” yelled a score of voices from the
street.
Both societies gathered on the sidewalk in front of the Henderson
“ranch.” It was seen that they were disguised in various ways. Some
wore long dusters and high, pointed hats of white, while others wore
black gowns and high black hats. There were sixty of them in all, and
they made the night hideous with their wild cries. However, there was
no scuffling between them, and everything indicated a friendly rivalry.
Soon the doors were opened, and the sixty sophomores came rushing into
the house. They had captured a bass drum somehow, and they beat it all
the way from the sidewalk up the stairs.
The committee were in advance, and they singled out their freshmen,
giving them the notification in a certain manner that was both
mysterious and formal. When it was all over few of the freshmen
selected knew of anybody else who had been thus honored.
Then the fun began.
Browning and Rattleton ladled out the punch in cups and goblets, and
it was “absorbed” with great rapidity by the innocent sophies. Cigars,
pipes and everything that would make a smoke were lighted, and it was
not long before the atmosphere could be cut with a dull knife.
As usual, Frank did not smoke or drink, but he was able to withstand
the fumes of liquor in a marvelous manner, and he was enjoying it all
immensely. He sang the songs with the others, cracked jokes, and his
ringing laugh was infectious.
“Walk up, gentlemen--walk up and get your poison!” cried Rattleton.
“That’s a good name for it,” said Jack Diamond.
In one of the rooms there was a scuffle and fall.
“What was that?” cried a startled freshman. “It sounded as if something
broke.”
“If it were a little later,” laughed Frank, “I should think it was the
break of day.”
It was learned that nothing serious had happened. Two freshmen had
punched each other a little, but that was not worth considering as long
as neither freshman had been killed.
Charlie Creighton climbed on a table and gave a toast, holding a
brimming goblet of punch aloft.
“Gentlemen, here is champagne to our real friends and real pain to our
sham friends.”
“Good! good!” was the cry, and a big inroad was made on the supply of
punch.
Dismal Jones arose and gravely said:
“I would like to inquire, gentlemen, how you regard the manufacture of
Eve from Adam’s rib?”
“I regard it as a side-splitting joke,” cried Merriwell quickly, and
this answer brought a burst of applause, while Jones relapsed into his
chair with a sweet, sad smile, and drank more punch.
The freshmen were happy that night. Never before had they known the
sophomores were such jolly good fellows. They took to the punch,
regardless of the fact that not a few of them had seen it manufactured.
They began to get “mellow.” Sophomores and freshmen, rivals and
enemies, hugged each other and danced about. They were seen with their
arms about each other’s necks. The freshmen swore the sophomores were
fine fellows, and the sophomores swore the freshmen were “dead easy
people.”
The punch ran low. It was replenished out of a large tin canister, and
Diamond swore that its last state was even worse than the first.
“Oh, what a jolly lot of heads these fellows will have in the morning!”
murmured Browning, as he continued to ladle out the stuff, the
perspiration pouring down his face.
Then of a sudden arose a fearsome cry:
“Faculty! faculty!”
Consternation, confusion, dismay! There was a furious scramble to get
out of the way somehow, anyhow, somewhere, anywhere. To be seen and
recognized by the faculty was a very serious matter just then.
The sophs and the juniors dove into bedrooms and plunged under the
beds and into the clothes rooms, leaving the poor freshmen to conceal
themselves as best they could.
Heavy feet were ascending the stairs. Voices were heard.
“That’s Prof. Mower!” sibilated a voice from one of the overflowing
clothes rooms.
“I don’t care about seeing him any more,” softly groaned a voice from
beneath a bed.
Then there was a deep grunt of disgust for such a pun, proceeding from
various portions of the dark room.
A shrill voice was heard outside the door.
“That’s Prof. Such!” came a husky whisper from the clothes press.
“He shouldn’t come here at such an hour,” punned another voice, from
some mysterious corner of the dark room.
“He’s too near-sighted to see anybody if there was a light in the
room,” declared somebody.
“Hark!”
Another voice was heard beyond the door.
“That is Prof. Babbitt!” whispered several of the hiding ones. “He is
dangerous!”
Prof. Babbitt was a man who was continually in trouble with the
students, who despised him, and lost no occasion to hector him.
Rap! rap! rap!
Three sharp raps on the door.
Silence within the room.
A hand fell on the latch, and the door was opened. Peering from beneath
the bed and from other hiding places the students saw three persons
stalk into the room.
“It’s very dark here,” said the voice that sounded like that of Prof.
Such.
“I--I think I smell tobacco,” said another voice, which the trembling
culprits were certain came from the lips of Prof. Mower.
“I am certain I smell something worse than tobacco,” fussed the voice
of Prof. Babbitt.
“Dear dear!” exclaimed the first speaker. “It is awful! I shall not be
able to remain in this room.”
“It’s the punch they smell,” whispered one of the students under the
bed, holding his lips close to the ear of a companion.
“It seems to be like some deadly gas,” hoarsely said the voice of the
second speaker. “Wait a minute, and I will find the lamp.”
“What are you going to do, professor?” asked the third individual.
“Surely you are not going to----”
“Light the lamp--yes, sir.”
“But it is very dangerous. This room does seem filled with gas. It
might produce combustion if you struck a match here.”
“Nonsense, my dear Babbitt!” exclaimed the one recognized by his voice
as Prof. Such. “Do light a lamp. I wish to see if any of those noisy
rascals are present. We could hear them plainly enough from the street,
although it is strangely quiet in the house now.”
Prof. Such generally carried a cane with a brad in the end of it. It
was for the purpose of aiding his somewhat unsteady feet at all times
of the year. The boys under the bed could hear that cane jabbing about
on the floor in a nervous manner.
Somebody produced a match and attempted to light it, but broke it in
two. Another was produced and struck. Then the three professors looked
about for the lamp, but could find none.
“Dear, dear!” fussed the voice of Such. “This is quite exasperating.
Can you see anyone, Babbitt?”
“Not a soul,” was the reply; “but the rascals may be in hiding. If we
catch them, they shall suffer severely for daring to do anything in
defiance to the expressed order of the faculty.”
“Quite right, professor--quite right. Some of them may be under the
bed. I will feel about with my cane.”
Then the cane with the brad in the end was thrust under the bed, and
that brad was thrust into one after another of the students hiding
there. Some of them started, but not one uttered a sound, although they
longed to scream when they felt that sharp point.
“I don’t seem to find anyone,” said the squeaky voice. “Light another
match, Mower.”
Another match was lighted, and the professor with the cane went round
to the foot of the bed.
Now it happened that Bruce Browning had attempted to crawl under
the bed at that end, but had stuck fast after getting his head and
shoulders under, and could not crawl farther or retreat, he was there
in that uncomfortable position when Prof. Such came round.
“Hold the match here, Mr. Mower,” directed the shrill voice of the
near-sighted professor. “That is it.”
“Have you discovered anything?” asked Mower’s voice.
“No, no,” was the answer. “I thought so at first, but all I can see is
a suit of clothes carelessly thrown down here. There it is, professor.”
He jabbed the brad into something broad and round and fat.
Then there was a wild howl and an upheaval of that bed, as if an
earthquake had occurred. Up came Bruce Browning, crimson in the face,
and rubbing with both hands a portion of his person usually hidden by
the tails of his coat.
“Confound you!” he roared. “I’m killed! You’ve stabbed me with that
thing!”
Then, with remarkable agility, he pranced past the three professors and
slammed the door, shouting:
“Up, fellows--up! This is a horse on us! It’s not the faculty! These
fellows are in disguise, and they’re hoaxing us!”
Then the three professors made a break to get out by that door,
dropping the match. The room was in darkness, and there was a furious
battle for a few moments.
Some one brought out the lamp and lighted it. The light showed an
interesting spectacle.
Browning, still up against the door, was seated on the fellow who had
represented Prof. Such. Rattleton was holding down Prof. Babbitt;
but it took Sidney Gooch and three others to keep the third one from
getting away.
“It’s no use, fellows,” said Bruce, grimly. “We’ve got you, and you may
as well give up.”
The false Prof. Mower did so, with a laugh.
“You are right,” he confessed. “You caught us easy.”
Bruce turned his captive over. His spectacles had been lost in the
scuffle, and his disguise was torn away, so he was readily recognized.
“Griswold, you confounded little villain!” roared Browning. “I have a
mind to give you a good basting! You rammed about two inches of that
brad into me!”
Danny Griswold, for it was the little joker, laughed heartily, saying:
“I guess some of the others felt it.”
“I guess yes!” cried one. “You found me.”
“Me, too!” admitted another.
The removal of “Babbitt’s” disguise revealed Charlie Creighton, who was
convulsed with merriment.
“Well, fellows,” said Prof. Mower, “you turned the tables on us that
time, and you did it in a hurry, or you would not have caught us.”
He pulled off his false beard, and Frank Merriwell was before them.
“You?” cried Browning. “I’ll wager something you put this job up.”
“Guilty,” laughed Frank.
“Boys,” thundered Bruce, “as punishment, we ought to hold him and turn
a quart of that punch down his throat.”
“Mercy!” cried Frank. “Shoot me if I am to die, but do not torture me
to death!”
By this time those who had hidden in other rooms realized something
violent had happened, and were trying to get in. Bruce pulled his
captive from the door and admitted them. They set up a howl for
vengeance when they learned how they had been hoaxed.
Mrs. Henderson came upstairs and begged them to be quiet, but she was
unceremoniously conducted to the head of the stairs, informed that a
collection for her benefit would be taken up soon, and instructed to
remain below.
While the students were debating over the punishment that should be
meted out to the captives, Sidney Gooch suddenly cried:
“Fellows, I’ve been robbed! My watch is gone!”