“Not one!” chorused all the masks in deep and dismal unison.

Mephisto made a signal.  Once more the freshmen were seized.

“Away with them!” shouted the fellow in red.

In another moment all but Frank had been hustled out of the room.  Then Frank was suddenly held fast and blindfolded.  He was dragged along to some place where the opening of another door brought to his ears the sound of horns and shouts of fiendish glee.  He was made to mount some stairs and then his feet were kicked from beneath him, and he shot down a steep and slippery incline into the very midst of the shouting demons.  He dropped through space and landed—­in a vat of ice-cold water.  Then he was dragged out, thumped on the head with stuffed clubs, deafened by the horns that bellowed in his ears, and tossed in a blanket till his head bumped against the ceiling.  Then he was forced to crawl through a piano box that was filled with sawdust.  He was pushed and pulled and hammered and thumped till he was sore in every part of his body.

All through this ordeal not a word or murmur escaped his lips.  His teeth were set, and he felt that he had rather die than utter a sound that betrayed pain or agitation.

This seemed to infuriate his assailants.  They banged him about till he could scarcely stand, and then, of a sudden, there was a great hush, while a terrible voice croaked: 

“Bring forth the guillotine!”

There was a bustle, and then the bandage was stripped from Frank’s eyes, he was tripped up, and a second later found himself lying helpless with his neck in the socket of a mock guillotine.  Above him was suspended a huge gleaming knife that seemed to tremble, as if about to fall.  At his side was a fellow dressed in the somber garments of an executioner.

It was really a severe strain upon his nerves, but still his teeth were clinched, and not a sound came from his lips.

“The knife is broken,” whispered the mock executioner in Frank’s ear, “so it may accidentally fall and cut you.”

“Have you any last message, fresh?” hoarsely whispered the mock executioner.  “There might be a fatal accident.”

Frank made no reply save to wink tauntingly at the fellow.

The next instant, with a nerve-breaking swish, the shining blade fell!

A piece of ice was drawn across Frank’s throat and a stream of warm water squirted down his back.

It was most horribly real and awful, and for a moment it seemed that the knife had actually done the frightful deed.

Despite his wonderful nerve, Frank gasped; but he quickly saw that the knife had swung aside and his head was still attached to his body.

Then he forced a derisive laugh from his lips, and seemed not the least disturbed, much to the disgust of the assembly.

“Confound him!” growled a voice, which Frank fancied he recognized as belonging to Browning.  “There’s no fun in him.  Let’s try another.”