"Don't jump, sonny; you may hurt yourself." "He's going to fly, fellows!
Good little Freshie's got wings!" "Say, we'll let you out in the
morning! Good-night!"

But when Neil, divesting himself of coat and shoes, swung out and laid
hold of the largest of the big ivy branches that clung there to the
wall, the jeers died away. The hall where the meeting had been held was
on the third floor, and when Neil stepped from the window-sill he hung
fully twenty-five feet from the ground. The ivy branch, ages old, was
almost as large as his wrist, and quite strong enough to bear his weight
just as long as it did not tear from its fastenings. Whether it would
hold in place remained to be seen. Neil judged that if he could lower
himself fifteen feet by its aid he could easily drop the rest of the
distance without injury. The window above was black with watchers as he
began his journey, and many voices cheered him on. Paul, his feet
hanging over the black void, sat on the narrow ledge and waited
his turn.

"Go fast, chum," he counseled, "but don't lose your grip. I'll wait
until you're down."

"All right," answered Neil. Then, with a great rustling of the
thick-growing leaves, he lowered himself by arm's lengths. The vine
swayed and gave at every strain, but held. From below came the sound of
clapping. Hand under hand he went. The oblong of faint light above
receded fast. His stockinged feet gripped the vine tightly. In the group
of sophomores the clapping grew into cheers.

[Illustration]