, who would be dined.

"Heed and prof-it by these PRE-CEPTS, dear child-ren, that you may grow
up to be great and noble men like those who sub-scribe them-selves,

"Pa-ter-nal-ly yours,

"THE CLASS OF 1904.

"You are ad-ver-tis-ed by your lov-ing friends."

This startling information, printed in sophomore red on big white
placards, flamed from every available space in and about the campus the
next morning. The nocturnal bill-posters had shown themselves no
respecters of places, for the placards adorned not fences and walls
alone, but were pasted on the granite steps of each recitation hall. All
the forenoon groups of staid seniors, grinning juniors and sophomores,
or vexed freshmen stood in front of the placards and read the
inscriptions with varied emotions. But in the afternoon a cheering mob
of the "infants" marched through the college and town and tore down or
effaced every poster they could find. But they didn't get as far from
the campus as the athletic field, and so it was not until Neil and Paul
and one or two other freshmen reported for practise at four o'clock that
it was discovered that the high board fence surrounding the field was a
mass of the objectionable signs from end to end.

"Oh, let them stay," said Neil. "I think they're rather funny myself.
And as for their stopping the freshman dinner, why we'll wait and see.
If they try it we'll have our chance to get back at them."

"R-r-revenge!" muttered South, who, with a lacrosse stick over his
shoulder and an attire consisting wholly of a pair of flapping white
trunks, a faded green shirt, and a pair of canvas shoes, had come out to
join the lacrosse candidates.

"King suggested our getting some small posters printed in blue with just
the figures ''05' on them, and pasting one on every soph's window," said
Paul, "but Livingston wouldn't hear of it. I think it would be a good
game, eh?"

"Faculty'd kick up no end of a rumpus," said South.

"I haven't heard that they are doing much about these things," answered
Paul. "If the sophs can stick things around why can't we?"

"You'd better ask the Dean," suggested Neil. "Hello, who's that chap?"

They had entered the grounds and were standing on the steps of the
locker-house. The person to whom Neil referred was just coming through
the gate. He was a medium-sized man of about thirty years, with a
good-looking, albeit very freckled face, and a good deal of sandy hair.
The afternoon was quite warm, and