At the "Cranium" Fraternity, Dan Jordan was closeted with three little freshmen. Swipes looked downcast.

"I want to do something to help," he wailed; "I feel as if it were all my fault that the parson is gone. We can't have any fun without him. It's tedious, too, being cooped up here not being able to go anywhere for fear of being taken ourselves."

Dan cleared his throat preparatory to speaking.

"If you fellows won't peach," said he in an eager undertone, "I'll tell you something and you can help."

"What?"

"We'll have Graves if you will all do as I tell you."

"Watch me," cried Swipes, turning a somersault. When he was in the most harrowing position, Brown gave him a swift kick.

"Give him one for me, Shorts," whispered Spuddy, but Swipes was on his feet again, ready to listen.

There was a general hurrah when Jordan in subdued tones had outlined the plan.

"Where are Graves' evening clothes," demanded Dillon; "we must smuggle them into the opera-house some way."

"They'll be there all right," replied Jordan; "they've gone in with the caterer's stuff. You'd better send your own best togs in a barrel or the sophomores will see to it that you won't have them when you want them.... Now mind, mum's the word."