alone and it would probably have astonished any member of the faculty, or Patrick Corse Heaphy even, to have seen him at this moment.
Mounted on his shoulders was Terence Golatly, heading a procession of one person, Tommy Wilson, breathless from his continued imitation of a brass-band, to the music of which Hart was cavorting and prancing, while Terence saluted an imaginary crowd to right and left.
"Whoa, whoa," shouted the rider, as his steed dashed up the steps of University. There was a wild shout of welcome as they galloped into Betts's room, and a look of astonishment crossed every face as the freshmen realized who it was that had caused the uproar. With a hasty wave of his hand Hart replied to the greeting and breathlessly gulped down the contents of a large china cup that was offered him.
The strong punch tingled into the tips of his fingers. He held the cup out again—it was not the first that he had had that night.
Betts looked a little frightened as he ladled out more punch. Some one started a chorus, "Oh, here's to Princeton College, drink her down," which was loudly chanted and was
