it; whereupon a struggle to prevent such a sad calamity, took place between him and the rest of his classmates on the divan.
Things had warmed up considerably by half-past eleven when Briggs Talcott, who was wandering around with a guitar swung about him, troubadour fashion, came thrumming into the room. Some very lusty and well-intentioned singing took place, as might have been expected. The sophomores condescendingly allowed the freshmen to sing with them, and the latter discovered that their enemies were not such bad fellows after all, if they were rightly treated.
"Well, say, the president of your class is on the rampage, isn't he?" observed Talcott to Jimmie James who was sitting back in a corner smoking quietly.
"I don't know what became of him," Jimmie answered. "He disappeared."
"He went off with some juniors, Ned Bliss and some other fellows," put in Congreve. "I told him to come over here. My! but it would be funny to see old Pop get in the game."
They did not know that at this moment the dignified president of the class was on his way to join this little gathering. He was not
