There was a rush of the celebrating seniors toward the place where the disturbance arose. Then others left the big bonfire to see the fun.

An automobile horn tooted discordantly—defiantly, Andy thought.

“Who has had the nerve to come in here, of all nights—on the one when we have our fire?” he thought. “It can’t be any of the freshmen; they wouldn’t dare.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Ben in Andy’s ear, as he trotted beside his chum.

“We’ll upset his apple cart—that’s the least we’ll do, for one thing.”

“I should say yes!” chimed in Chet. “Surely!”

They had now reached the spot where, from all appearances, was located the center of disturbance. A crowd of the freshmen, whose labors in gathering wood for the fire had now ceased, were gathered around a large touring car that, in defiance of all rules and customs, had been run to the very center of the school campus.

“Come down out of that!”

“Get away from here!”

“You fellows have nerve!”

“Puncture their tires!”

These are only a few of the cries and threats hurled at those in the auto—four young fellows who seemed anxious to make trouble not only for themselves, but for the school boys, whose celebration they had interrupted.

The campus was a sort of sacred place. It stood in the midst of the school buildings and dormitories, and, though visitors were always welcome, there was a rule against vehicles crossing it, for the turf was the pride not only of the students, but the faculty as well. So it is no wonder that the sight of a heavy auto rolling over the lawn aroused the ire of all.

“Get out of the way there, you fellows, if you don’t want to be run over!” snapped the youth at the steering wheel of the auto. “I’ll smash through you in another minute!”

“Oh, you will, eh?”

“Isn’t he the sassy little boy!”

“Yank him out of there!”

The freshmen surrounding the auto thus reviled those in the car.

The auto had come to a stop, but the engine was still running, free from the gears. Now and then, as he saw an opening, the lad at the wheel would slip in his clutch and the car would advance a few feet. Then more of the school boys would swarm about it, and progress would be impeded.

“Smash through ’em, old man!” advised one on the rear seat. “We don’t want to stay here all night!”

“That’s right; run ’em down,” advised his companion. “We’re—we’re—what are we, anyhow?” he asked, and it did not need a look at him to tell the cause of his condition. In fact, all in the auto were in a rather hilarious state, and the running of the car over the campus had been the result of a suggestion made after a too-long lingering in a certain road-house, where stronger stuff than ginger ale was dispensed.

“We’re all right—noshin matter us,” declaimed one. “Run ’em down, ole man!”

“Look out! I’m going through you!” cried the lad at the wheel. The freshmen in front of the car parted instinctively, but before the young chauffeur could put his threat into execution, Andy and his chums had reached the machine.

“Get out of here!” cried Andy, and, reaching up, he fairly pulled the steersman from his seat. The chap came down in a rush, nearly upsetting Andy, who, however, managed to yank the lad to his feet.

“Pull ’em all out!” came the cry from Tom, and a moment later he, with the aid of Ben, Chet and Frank, had pulled from the car the other young men, who seemed too dazed to resist.

“Hop in that car, Peterson,” ordered Andy, to a freshman who could operate an auto. “Run it out to the street and leave it. Then we’ll rush these chaps out to it and chuck ’em in. We’ll show ’em what it means to run over our campus.”

All this time Andy had kept hold of the collar of the youth whom he had pulled from the car. Then the latter turned about, and raised his fist. He had been taken so by surprise that he at first had seemed incapable of action.

At this moment the big bonfire flared up brightly, and by its glare Andy had a look at the face of the lad with whom he had clashed. The sight caused him suddenly to drop his hold and exclaim:

“Mortimer Gaffington!”

“Huh! So it’s you, is it, Andy Blair? What do you mean by acting this way?” demanded Mortimer, the shock of whose rough handling had seemed to sober temporarily. “What do you mean? I demand an apology! That’s what I do. Ain’t I ’titled to ’pology, fellers?” and he appealed to his chums.

“Sure you are. Make the little beggar ’pologize!” leered one. “If he was at Yale, now, we’d haze him good and proper.”

“Yale!” cried Tom Hatfield. “Yale fires out such fellows as you!”

“Mortimer Gaffington!” gasped Andy. “I rather wish this hadn’t happened. Or, rather I wish it had been anyone but he. I can see where this may lead.”

“You goin’ ’pologize?” asked Mortimer, trying to fix a stern gaze on Andy.

“Apologize! Certainly not!” cried Andy, indignantly. “It is you fellows who ought to apologize. What would you do if some one ran an auto over Yale Campus?”

“Ho! Ho! That’s good. That’s rich, that is!” laughed one who had been yanked out of his seat by Tom Hatfield. “That’s a good joke, that is! An auto on Yale campus! Why we bulldogs would eat it up, that’s what we’d do!”

“Well, that’s what we’ll do here!” cried Chet, angered by the supercilious tone of the lad. “Come on, boys; run ’em off Spanish fashion!”

It needed but this suggestion to further rouse the feelings of the Milton lads, and in an instant several of them had grabbed each of the trespassers. Andy stepped back from Mortimer. Because of the already strained relations between himself and this society “swell,” he did not wish to take a part in the proceedings.

“Come on! Run ’em off!” was the rallying cry.

The auto had already been steered out on a road that circled the campus, and was soon in the street. Then, heading their victims toward the old gateway that formed the chief entrance to the school the Milton lads began running out the intruders.

“You wait! I—I’ll fix you for this,—Andy Blair!” threatened Mortimer as he was rapidly propelled over the campus.

“Forget it!” advised Chet. “Rush ’em, fellows!”

And rushed off Mortimer and his companions were. They were fairly tossed into their auto, and then, with jeers and shouted advice not to repeat the trick, the school boys turned back to their fire.

Andy had lingered near the spot where he had hauled Mortimer out of the auto. He was thinking of many things. He did not forget what had happened to the intruders. Indeed it was nothing short of what they deserved, for they had deliberately tried to harass the school boys, and make a mockery of one of the oldest traditions of Milton—one that held inviolate the beautiful campus.

“Only I wish it had been someone else than I who got hold of Mort,” mused Andy. “He’ll be sure to remember it when I get to Yale, and he’ll have it in for me. He can make a lot of trouble, too, I reckon. Well, it can’t be helped. They only got what was coming to ’em.”

With this thought Andy consoled himself, but he had an uneasy feeling for all that. The students came trooping back, after having disposed of Mortimer and his crowd.

“You missed the best part of the fun,” said Chet to Andy. “Those fellows thought a cyclone struck them when we tossed ’em into the car. They don’t know yet whether they’re going or coming back,” and he laughed, his mates joining in.

“Yes?” asked Andy, non-committally.

“What’s up?” asked Tom, curiously. “You don’t act as though it had any flavor for you. What’s the matter?”

“Oh, well—nothing,” said Andy. “Come on, let’s get back to the fire, and have a last song. Then I’m going to pack. I want to leave on that early train in the morning.”

“Same here. Come on, boys. Whoop her up once more for Old Milton, and then we’ll say good-bye.”

“I know what ails Andy,” spoke Tom in a low tone to Frank, walking along arm in arm with him.

“What?”

“It’s about that fellow Gaffington. Andy’s sorry he had a run-in with him, and I don’t blame Andy. He had trouble before, and this will only add to it. And that Gaffington is just mean enough, and small-spirited enough, to make trouble for Andy down there at Yale. He’s a sport—but one of the tin-horn brand. I don’t blame Andy for wishing it had been someone else.”

“Oh, well, here’s hoping,” said Frank. “We all have our troubles.”

“But those fellows won’t trouble us again to-night,” declared Chet, laughing. “They’ll be glad to go home and get in bed.”

“Did you know any of ’em, Andy, except Gaffington?” asked Tom.

“No, the others were strangers to me.”

“How do you reckon they got here, all the way from New Haven?”

“Oh, they didn’t come from Yale,” declared Andy. “The university closed last week, you know. Probably Mort had some of his chums out to visit him in Dunmore. That was his car. And he wanted to show ’em the sights, and let ’em see he could run all over little Milton, so he brought ’em out here. It isn’t such a run from Dunmore, you know.”

“I reckon that’s it,” agreed Tom. “Well, they got more than they were looking for, that’s one consolation. Now boys, whoop her up for the last time.”

Again they gathered about the blazing fire, and sang their farewell song.

The annual celebration was drawing to a close. Another group of lads would leave Milton to go out into the world, mounting upward yet another step. From then on the ways of many who had been jolly good comrades together would diverge. Some might cross again; others be as wide apart as the poles.

The fire died down. The big piano box commandeered by “Swipes” was but a heap of ashes. The fun was over.

There were cheers for the departing senior lads, who, in turn, cheered the others who would take their places. Then came tributes to the industrious freshmen.

“Good night! Good night! Good night!” was shouted on all sides.

Less and less brilliant grew the fire. Now it was but a heap of glowing coals that would soon be gray, dead and cold ashes, typical in a way, of the passing of the senior boys. And yet, phoenix-like, from these same ashes would spring up a new fire—a fire in the hearts that would never die out. Such are school friendships.

Of course there were forbidden little feasts in the various rooms to mark the close of the term—spreads to which monitors, janitors and professors discreetly closed their eyes.

Andy and his friends gathered in his apartment for a last chat. They were to journey to their home town on the morrow and then would soon separate for the long summer vacation.

“Well, it was a rare old celebration!” sighed Tom, as he flopped on the bed.

“It sure was!” agreed Chet, with conviction. “I hope I have as much fun as this if I go to Harvard.”

“Same here, only I think I’ll make mine Princeton,” added Ben. “Oh, but it’s sort of hard to leave Milton!”

“Right you are,” came from Andy, who was opening ginger ale and soda water.

And, after a time, quiet settled down over the school, and Dr. Morrison and his colleagues breathed freely again. Milton had stood steadfast through another assault of “bonfire night.”

The next morning there were confused goodbyes, multiplied promises to write, or to call, vows never to forget, and protestations of eternal friendship. There were arrangements made for camping, boating, tramping and other forms of vacation fun. There were dates made for assembling next year. There was a confused rushing to and fro, a looking up of the time of trains, hurried searches for missing baggage.

And, after much excitement, Andy and his chums found themselves in the same car bound for Dunmore. They settled back in their seats with sighs of relief.

“Hear anything more of Mort and his crowd?” asked Tom of Andy.

“Not a thing.”

“I did,” spoke Chet. “They were nearly arrested for making a row in town after we got through with ’em.”

“Hum!” mused Andy. “I s’pose Mort will blame me for that, too. Well, no use worrying until I have to.”

At Churchtown, where the train stopped to give the boys at least a last remembrance of Kelly’s place, several passengers got on. Among them was a young man who seemed familiar to Andy and his chums. A second look confirmed it.

“Why, that’s the Bardon chap we took away from that farmer!” exclaimed Frank.

“That’s right!” cried Andy. “Hello, Link!” he called genially. “What you doing here?”

“Oh, how are you?” asked the farm lad. “Glad to see you all again,” and he nodded to each one in turn. He did not at all presume on his acquaintance with them, and was about to pass on, when Andy said:

“Sit down. How’s your arm?”

“Oh much better, thank you. I’ve been working steadily since you helped me.”

“That’s good. Where are you bound for now?” went on Andy.

“Why, I’m going to look up an uncle of mine I haven’t seen in years. I hear he has a big farm, and I thought I’d like to work for him.”

“Where is it?” asked Andy.

“In a place called Wickford, Connecticut.”

“Wickford!” exclaimed Andy. “Why that’s near New Haven, and Yale—where I’m going this fall. Maybe I’ll see you there, Link.”

“Maybe,” assented the young farmer, and then, declining Andy’s invitation to sit with the school lads, he passed on down the car aisle.