a suddenly awakened hero, a wolf who had thrown off
his meek lamb's outfit.

As I was leaving for home, full of ice cream, punch and much
self-conceit, a junior came toward me hesitatingly. He seemed to be
near-sighted, for he groped rather pitifully for my sleeve, and thrust
his face close to mine.

"Aren't you the freshman that won the rush?" he asked me.

I told him promptly that I was.

"Well, won't you come around for lunch tomorrow at our fraternity
house? We'll be mighty glad to have you."

I had learned a little of fraternities at school. They had not amounted
to anything there; but I knew that college fraternities were
different--were big, powerful organizations which could make or break a
man's college career. My aunt had spoken to me of fraternities, too; she
wanted me to join one which should give me--and her--a deal of social
prestige. And I, hungering for new experiences and--as every boy
does--for things that are mysterious and secretive, wanted, too, the
distinction and glory of making a fraternity. It seemed to my freshman
mind the most important thing upon the horizon.

And so, when this upper classman invited me to luncheon, my heart
bounded high with expectation. I knew from other college men that an
invitation to lunch was but the beginning of the usual system of
"rushing" a prospective member: the preliminary skirmish of festivities
which would prelude the final invitation to join the fraternity. And I
was going to lunch at one of the most influential and exclusive of the
university's fraternities.

It is needless to say, I was dressed in my Sunday-best the next morning.
And, after my 11 o'clock recitation, I hurried out to find the upper
classman waiting for me by the side of the fountain which had been the
scene of my yesterday's wetting. I smiled indulgently at the thought of
it. How changed everything was since then! The upper classman waited for
me to come up to him. I saw that he did not recognize me at once, and a
tremor of suspicion came over me. What if it were all a hoax--another
bit of hazing?

He was immensely cordial; took me by the arm and marched me across the
campus, down a side street and into the palatial, pillared house of his
fraternity. On the way, his genial face full of a stupid, expansive
smile, and his near-sighted eyes twinkling vacantly, he told me of the
men I should meet.

Inside, in the magnificent hall, with its weathered oak beams and
mission furniture an