"That was when he was burned at the stake," said a chap in the
background, and there was a universal dismal groan.

"This is some of the Delta Kappa machinery here," the little fellow
explained. "Sometimes some of the fellows come here to have a cold bot
and hot lob. You freshies walked right in on us to-night, and we gave
you a pleasant reception. Now, if you blow I'll guarantee you'll never
become a soph. The fellows will do you, and do you dirty, before your
first year is up."

"Such threats do not frighten me," haughtily flung back the lad from
Virginia. "I know this was a put-up job, and Bruce Browning was in it.
He got us to come here. Frank Merriwell knew something about it, or he'd
never been so ready to come. And I know you, too, Tad Horner."

The little fellow fell back a step, and then, with a sudden angry
impulse, he tore off his mask, showing a flushed, chubby, boyish face,
from which a pair of great blue eyes flashed at Diamond.

"Well, I am Tad Horner!" he cried, "and I'm not ashamed of it! If you
want to throw me down, go ahead. It will be a low, dirty trick, and will
show the kind of big stuff you are!"

The masked lads were surprised, for Tad had never exhibited such spirit
before. He had always seemed like a mild, shy, mother-boy sort of chap.
He had been hazed and had cried; but he wouldn't beg and he never
squealed. After that Browning had taken him under his wing, had fought
his battles, and had stood by him through the freshman year. Anybody who
was looking for trouble could find it by imposing on Horner; and
Browning, for all of his laziness, could fight like a tiger when he was