"What's the matter with '98?" and one who knew him at home sang out, "B-I-N-G-O—Bingo!" It was awfully exciting.

"They're going to have a fire to-night," Dave said, as they walked up Nassau Street. "I heard some of the Freshmen say that they would begin and collect the wood as soon as it was dark."

"Where do they get it?" asked Bingham.

"Oh, just take it," Dave answered, carelessly. "They take fences and gates, and boards and barrels, and, oh, anything they can find. That would be a dandy one," pointing to a half-broken-down rail fence which divided an orchard from a newly opened road.

"It wouldn't let any cows or horses out, you see. They stole our barn gate once, and the horses got loose on the front lawn and tore up all the grass. We didn't mind, though," with true college spirit, "for we'd beaten Yale."

"Yale Freshmen?" eagerly.

"No," with great scorn: "the 'Varsity. Nobody's much stuck on Freshmen in Princeton," he continued, "except, of course, your brother. He's great; he'll make the 'Varsity next year, sure."

Bingo's feelings were soothed. He thought all the Freshmen "great," but was satisfied if others only appreciated Braddy.

They grew very chummy, the two boys, and Braddy's brother had learned a great deal about college life by the time he was brought back to the campus.

It was in the middle of Senior singing, when the shadows from the tall old elms were being swallowed up in the gathering darkness, and the groups in white duck trousers scattered about the grass were beginning to be indistinguishable, that slim figures were seen hurrying mysteriously to and fro, and the peace of the evening was rudely broken into by the preparations for a "Freshman fire."

The victory had already been celebrated on Old North steps, for had not Bingo himself heard the Seniors sing, as an encore to a favorite solo, these never-to-be-forgotten lines, composed for the occasion:

"The Freshmen nine came from Harvard for to show
How they played the game of ball;
But found when Bradfield got in his finest curves
They couldn't hit the ball at all.
The game stood in our favor 8 to 7
When they came to the bat once more.
Their Captain said, ''Tis the ending of the 9th,
We've got to tie the score.'
Chorus.—Then when he saw the bases full
His sides with laughter shook.
But when he heard the umpire shout
'Two strikes'—then 'striker out!'
He wore a worried look—
He wore a worried look."

That brought even a finer glow to the boy's cheek than when the familiar "Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!—'way down on the Bingo farm!" had drawn the attention of his brother's friends to him, and made him feel for a moment as though he were a college hero.

The singing had ceased with "Old Nassau," and the campus was alive now with hurrying groups. The usual night cries filled the air: "Hullo, Billy Appleton!" "Hullo, Benny Butler!" "Come over here!" "See you later," etc., and the Freshmen were shouting and rushing wildly about. "Where's Porter?" "Where's Tommy?" "Where's Dad?" was heard on all sides. "'98 this way, '98 this way!"

"Stick to me, Bing," said Braddy, as he started over to his room in Witherspoon; "stick close to me, or you'll surely get lost."

"We haven't half enough wood, Park," said a '98 man, coming up to the class president, who was standing near Bradfield; "it won't make any sort of a fire."

"Can't you get more? We must have a good one," answered Porter, "Get a fence, or a house—any old thing will do. I've got to find Runt and Bunny now, and see about a wagon for the nine. Will meet you later."

"Come on, Bingo," said Braddy.

He, Braddy, ought not to stay round and hear all the arrangements for a celebration which was to be in his honor. The nine was supposed to keep modestly out of the way, and know nothing whatever about it.

"Come on, Bing!"

But Bingo didn't "come on," he has business of his own to transact. The Freshman fire, his first fire, must be a success, and he knew where a good fence was. Quick as thought he dropped behind his brother, and was soon lost in the crowd, then he made a break for the street. At the corner he met Dave Hunter.

"Hullo! where you going?"

It was a secret, but he told, and Dave, like "Ducky Daddies," "Cocky-locky," etc., in the old Grimm fairy-tale of Henny-Penny, said, "Then I'll go too."

It was a full hour later, and the Freshmen were crowding about the old cannon, round which a pile of boards, fence rails, barrels, etc., were stacked, all ready to light. The resources of the town had been about exhausted, and the raiders were returned "bringing their sheaves with them." Roman candles and fire-crackers still went off at intervals in different parts of the campus, but they were only a side issue, the fire was the real business of the evening. The college was there almost to a man, and the cheering for and by '98 was "frequent and painful and free," or would be to one whose nerves were below par; to a healthy enthusiast it was soul-stirring and exhilarating.

Even the upper classmen added their thunder from well-trained iron lungs when the old wagon containing the victorious nine came up, dragged by a lot of wild, reckless, muscular Freshmen. Only true heroes could so calmly have imperilled their lives, for these bold young spirits were actually standing up and singing, as the wagon lurched and pitched and wobbled over curbstones, and down into gutters, and up again. But fortune favors the brave, and they reached the fire without a single accident, and were halted at the cannon's mouth in the front row. Everything was ready, yet there seemed to be some hitch. The crowd began to get impatient.

"What's the matter?" they cried. "Why don't you light her up?"

"We're waiting for Braddy," came back the answer.

"Where is he?"

"Give it up."

"He's hunting his brother," said one. "He's down on the Bingo farm," cried another.

This was rather "fresh," but there was a general laugh, which turned into a cheer as Braddy, wearing a worried look, pushed his way through the crowd.

"I can't find the kid," he said, anxiously.

"Oh, he will turn up all right," said the others; "he's sure to come to the fire. Brace up and light her, Jennings."

Just then there was a shout from behind, and the closely packed mass opened up to let a fence come in, which two small flushed and panting boys were dragging after them.

"Great Scott, it's Braddy's brother!" said the Senior who had sat next to him at the game. "Where in the world did you get all that fence, and how did you manage to drag it here?"

Bingo was far too breathless to answer, but Dave spoke up.

"A lot of fellows helped us," he said. "We brought it round a back way, but Brad and I brought it through the campus alone."

"Give them a cheer, fellows," cried the Senior, "and start the fire."

"Here's to Braddy's brother," sang the Freshmen, as they threw the lighted matches into the pile, "drink her down! Here's to Braddy's brother, and—"

"Dave Hunter!" shouted Bingo, who had found his voice.

"—and Dave Hunter he's the other; drink her down, drink her down, drink her down, down, down!" etc., ending up with a rousing B-I-N-G-O—Bingo!

Then the fire began to crackle and sizzle and blaze up and roar, and the Freshmen cheered and sang and shouted, and the bright light revealed groups of girls with brothers and friends who had come to see the celebration, and myriads of small boys who