out?"

But none knew. Neil went to one of the three windows and raised it.
Instantly a chorus of derision floated up from below. Gathered almost
under the windows was a throng of sophomores, their upturned faces just
visible in the darkness.

"O Fresh! O Fresh!" "Want to come down?" "Why don't you jump?" These
gibes were followed by cheers for "'04" and loud groans. Neil turned and
faced his angry classmates.

"Look here, fellows," he said, "we don't want to have to yell for the
janitor with those sophs there; that's too babyish. The key's in the
outside of the lock. I think I can get down all right by the ivy, and
I'll unlock the door if those sophs will let me. If two or three of you
will follow I guess we can do it all right."

"Bully for you!" "Plucky boy!" cried the audience. But for a moment none
came forward to share the risk. Then Paul pushed his way to the window.

"Here, I'll go with you, chum," he said, with a suggestion of swagger.
"We can manage those dubs down there alone. The rest of you can sit down
and tell stories; we'll let you out in a minute," he added scathingly.

"That's Gale," whispered some one. "Fresh kid!", added another angrily.
But the gibe had the desired effect. Four other freshmen signified their
willingness to die for their class, and Neil climbed on to the broad
window-sill. His reappearance was the signal for another outburst from
the watching sophomores.