On Market street Slim led the way into a drug store and slipped onto a stool in front of the white marble counter where two aproned youths were dispensing drinks. “We’ve got to cook up some scheme,” he said, “and we might as well be comfortable while we’re at it. What’s yours?”

“Mine’s a good dinner,” answered Leonard wistfully.

“You’re in the wrong shop, General, but you can have a sandwich if you say the word.”

Leonard looked longingly at the two tiers of sandwiches under the glass cover nearby. “You?” he asked.

Slim shook his head sternly. “No, sir, I’m going to dine at Kingman’s in about ten minutes.”

Leonard sighed and mentioned his choice of a beverage. The renunciation was difficult. When their glasses were in front of them Slim lifted his gravely. “Here’s luck,” he said.

“Success to our scheme,” replied Leonard, and drank deeply. The concoction tasted good and he imbibed again and felt better. He glanced at Slim. Slim was staring hard at the counter and absently tracing a design on its smooth surface. The clock at the end of the store, above the prescription counter, proclaimed three minutes past seven. Leonard looked out through the big glass window and sought inspiration. The sidewalks were well thronged, for the evening was mild for November. A big yellow trolley car passed with a strident clanging of its gong. Automobiles went by honking warningly to the rash pedestrians who sought to find their way across the street. A smart looking policeman, his fingers crooked in his belt, paused momentarily to view the contents of the window and then continued on his beat. Leonard had found his inspiration.

“Slim, look here,” he exclaimed. “Why can’t we get a cop to put us through that mob back there? I just saw one go by. If we told him how it was—”

But Slim looked instantly disapproving. “That wouldn’t be playing the game,” he answered. “You—you don’t call on the cops to help you, General. It isn’t done.”

“Isn’t done be blowed!” said Leonard. “Look here, I’m so hungry I could eat nails. We didn’t have enough lunch to keep a canary alive, Slim. I want my dinner, and if I can get it by hooking onto a cop—”

“You’d bring disgrace on the whole Sophomore Class,” interrupted the other. “No, not to be thought of, General. Besides, I’ve got a better plan.”

“It’s about time,” grumbled Leonard.

“What’s to keep us from getting a taxi and going right to the door of the restaurant?”

“Why, you poor boob, those wild Indians would halt the taxi and see you inside. They’ll be looking for some such scheme as that.”

“I guess you’re right,” acknowledged Slim sadly. “You’re next.”

“Well, suppose we got the restaurant on the telephone and told the bunch that we were on the corner and couldn’t get by. Then they could come out and rescue us.”

“Ye-es, but that would be sort of babyish, wouldn’t it? I’d a heap rather get there by my own—er—efforts.”

“So would I,” responded Leonard a trifle impatiently, “but your own efforts aren’t getting us there! And—and it’s getting late!”

The clock said eight minutes past now. The two subsided into silence again. Slim set down his empty glass. “Want another?” he asked morosely. Leonard shook his head. Half a hundred more precious seconds passed and then Leonard gave an exclamation of triumph. “Got it!” he declared. “Got it, Slim! At least, I think so. How does this strike you?”

Pushing aside his glass, Leonard bent his head close and explained his project, while Slim, at first looking dubious, at last nodded in wholehearted approval. “Sure!” he said with conviction. “That’ll do it, I’ll bet, General. But, hold on, how about you? That sort of leaves you out in the storm, doesn’t it?”

“Never mind me,” said Leonard. “You’re the important one. Besides, I’ll make it somehow later. All I ask you to do is to see that there’s something left when I do get there.”

“Well,” said Slim, “if you don’t get in when I do I’ll take a bunch and go out and get you.”

“Thought you said that sort of thing was babyish? No, you just see that there’s something left, Slim, and leave the rest to me. I guess they won’t care whether I make it or not. It’s only you, as the Class President, who interests them.”

Slim looked doubtful, but time was passing and he had thrown down the gauntlet to the Freshman Class. “All right,” he agreed. “Have it your way. Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute,” objected Leonard. “We’ve got it wrong. We’d both better try the same end of the block. They’ve seen you in that white sweater there and won’t be looking for you in anything else. See what I mean?”

“Yes, and I guess you’re right, General. And say, old son, as a general you’re sure making good!”

About five minutes later the watchful-waiting throng of freshmen at the Moody street end of the block again rushed into barricade formation, spurred on by the joyous applause of a score of juniors who, having stationed themselves inside the barricade in the hope of witnessing some fun, were finding the proceedings rather tame. A rickety taxi had swung around from Market street and was attempting to penetrate the barrier. The freshmen rallied to the threatened invasion.

“Stop that taxi!” was the slogan. “Look inside!”

Opposed by a solid mass of humanity, there was nothing for the driver of the vehicle to do but stop. He did so, protesting forcibly and most impolitely. The freshmen swarmed about the dilapidated taxicab, breasting the sizzling radiator and showering questions on the fuming proprietor. Others peered in through the glass. Suspense and confusion reigned. On the corner a policeman twirled his club and looked on in good-natured amusement. On such occasions as this the Law was ever lenient with youth. The suspense was short-lived. A cry of joyous triumph arose and the doors of the cab were snatched open.

“Here he is!” was the cry. “Trying to sneak past! Nothing doing, Staples! Try again, Soph!”

“Pull him out!” advised a fellow well removed from the center of the crowd.

“Turn around, cabby! No thoroughfare, old sport! Detour by Market street. Police orders.”

Then of a sudden triumph came to an end. A disgusted voice arose above the joyous clamor. “It isn’t Staples! It’s only General Grant!”

“What!” “You’re crazy!” “Let’s see!” “Show us!” “Oh, shucks!”

Leonard was extremely dignified throughout what was, quite naturally, an annoying experience to a peaceful traveler of the city streets. “You fellows haven’t any right,” he said firmly, “to stop this taxi. I’ve paid the driver to take me to Kingman’s Restaurant, and—”

“Sorry, Grant, but this street’s barred to traffic.” The snub-nosed freshman blocking the door on one side grinned exasperatingly. Behind him, his companions pushed and shoved in an effort to see into the dark interior of the cab.

“Look on the floor, Higbee! Bet you Staples is in there!” some one shouted. Hands explored the corners and one boy produced a flash light and cast its rays about. Disappointment was writ large on the countenances of all. “Not here!” was proclaimed.

“Where’d he go?” asked Higbee, who appeared to be one of the leading spirits.

“Who?” asked Leonard densely.

“Slim Staples. Where’d he get to?”

“Oh, Slim?” Leonard leaned out of one door and looked up the block. In front of the well-lighted and for the moment unguarded entrance to the restaurant, a tall youth paused to wave a hand ere he disappeared. Leonard laughed softly. “Why,” he went on, “Slim’s just gone in to dinner.”

“Yes, he has!” jeered Higbee. But others had seen the incident, although too late to interfere, and the dire news was being shouted up and down the block.

“He got in! I saw him!” “Oh, your grandmother! How could he?” “Yes, he did! Arthur saw him, too! He stopped at the door and waved—” “What’s that? Staples made it? When? How could he? What? Walked right in the door! Say, where were you guys? You were supposed to—” “Come on! Let’s stop him! Where’d he go? Who saw him?” “They say he got in!” “Rot! He’s in the crowd somewhere! This cab was a stall! Come on, Freshmen!”

Such a hullabaloo! Leonard, laughing, awaited his chance. It came. The defenders of the Moody street approach forgot him entirely and went rushing toward the door of the restaurant. Leonard slipped swiftly from the cab and followed, taking his place in the rear ranks of the enemy. The driver of the taxi, his fifty cents safely in his pocket, chuckled and swung back toward Market street.

Something over a hundred freshmen came together in a confused, pushing, shoving mass before the restaurant entrance. Accusations of dereliction of duty were frequent. Denials answered them. The masterful Higbee, striving to make his voice heard above the tumult, demanded proof. Assertions and denials battled for supremacy. Staples had gone in. Staples hadn’t gone in. Lots of fellows had seen him. They were crazy. Higbee waved a hand in exasperation. The policeman from the corner appeared suddenly in the scene, his good-natured voice mildly exhorting them to “move on now and don’t be blocking the sidewalk.” Slowly they gave back, flocking into the street. Across the thoroughfare the group of juniors, laughing enjoyably, forgot their neutral status and proffered wicked advice.

“Go on up and get him, Freshies! Don’t let him fool you that way!”

Fortunately perhaps, the noise was still too great for the advice to reach the freshmen. And just then a window went up on the second floor of the building, and the shade was pushed aside. “Oh, Fresh!” Comparative silence fell, and the crowd in the street craned their heads and sought the voice, slowly backing from the entrance in their effort to see. “Oh, Fresh!” Again the mocking challenge. A mutter arose from the throng that grew rapidly into a roar of futile rage. At the window Slim Staples smiled benignly down and waved a gay hand.

“Who wins the bet?” he called.

“A cold dinner for you, Slim!” shouted a freshman shrilly. A shout of approval went up, but Slim shook his head.

“Haven’t started yet,” he answered. “Oysters just coming up!” Grinning faces appeared behind Slim’s at the window. “Now then, fellows, three hearty groans for the Freshman Class!”

With a final wave of his hand, Slim disappeared, the window closed, and the long white shade fell back into place. A dismal silence held the throng below. Only the unkind laughter of the juniors disturbed the quiet of the moment. And in that moment, made desperate by Slim’s mention of oysters, a boy in a white sweater that was somewhat too large for him, detached himself swiftly from the group and sped toward the doorway. The shout of warning came too late. So, too, did the effort of the startled policeman. The latter’s hands came away empty, and Leonard, caroming from a corner of the doorway, righted himself and went scurrying up the flight of stairs.

At the top he paused for an instant to glance behind. The policeman was trying to do two things at once and succeeding. He was peering undecidedly after the trespasser and holding back the pursuit. With an unsteady laugh Leonard tried the knob of the door in front of him, from behind which came the sounds of a merry party. It did not yield. Leonard tried again and put his weight against the portal. From below came the hoarse voice of the officer.

“Hey, youse, come down out of that before I comes up and gets you!”

Leonard beat a tattoo on the door. The policeman started slowly and heavily and remorselessly up the carpeted steps. Behind him the doorway was crowded with faces. Leonard kicked until the door shook.

“Let me in, Sophs! This is Grant!” he shouted.

“Come away from that now!” ordered the policeman gruffly. He was almost at the top, and Leonard’s brief glance told him that his good-nature was no longer to be relied on.

“I’ve got a right in here,” panted Leonard, still pounding and kicking. “I’m—I’m one of the party!”

“Your party’s down below,” answered the officer grimly, and, topping the last step, stretched out a massive hand. Leonard, backed against the door now, waved weakly at the menace and tried to find words. Then, just when the Law was about to clutch him, the door behind him opened suddenly and unexpectedly and Leonard arrived on the scene of the Sophomore Dinner in most undignified manner!

The door closed as quickly as it had opened, leaving a surprised policeman to scratch his head and, finally, to retrace his steps to the sidewalk, where his appearance empty-handed summoned a groan of disappointment from the waiting throng. That disappointment was the last straw, and, after a rather half-hearted cheer for themselves, the freshmen wended their way back to school.

Upstairs, Leonard was finishing his sixth and final oyster.