They all three crossed the campus and made their way towards Edwards. They pounded on Hart's door and were admitted, but they did not stay long, and the razzle-dazzle was not a success.
Upon their entrance, Hart had slipped a letter he was writing under the blotting pad. It was one addressed to Mabel Van Clees, telling her that he would be in Oakland on the first of December and that he hoped they could be married before Christmas.
Days flew by, and Princeton won the Harvard game—score something big—and bonfires blazed. But the great event was yet to come—"Yale! Yale!" was the talk on the campus.
One day the college waked up in a peculiar manner. Very early in the morning some one had thrust his head out of a window, and it only needed a glance to show that the weather was fine—crisp and cool, cheerful and bright, and not a cloud in the sky!
The early riser was Tommy Wilson, and after squinting about he proceeded to do a very curious thing. He skipped over to the corner of his room and picked up a shot-gun, which he carefully loaded; then he went into the little room
