But Neil shook his head doubtfully.  Cries of “Vote!  Vote!” arose, and in a moment or two the balloting began.  While this was proceeding announcement was made that the annual Freshman Class Dinner would be held on the evening of the following Monday, October 7th.  When the cheers occasioned by this information had subsided the chairman arose.

“The result of the balloting, gentlemen,” he announced, “is as follows:  Livingston, 97; Gale, 45.  Mr. Livingston is elected by a majority of 52.”

Shouts of “Livingston!  Livingston!  Speech!  Speech!” filled the air, and were not stilled until some one arose and announced that the president-elect was not in the hall.  Paul, after a glance of bewilderment at Neil, had sat silent in his chair with something between a sneer and a scowl on his face.  Now he jumped up.

“Come on; let’s get out of here,” he muttered.  “They act like a lot of idiots.”  Neil followed, and they found themselves in a pushing throng at the door.  The chairman was vainly clamoring for some one to put a motion to adjourn, but none heeded him.  The crowd pushed and shoved, but made no progress.

“Open that door,” cried Paul.

“Try it yourself,” answered a voice up front.  “It’s locked!”

A murmur arose that quickly gave place to cries of wrath and indignation.  “The sophs did it!” “Where are they?” “Break the door down!” Those at the rear heaved and pushed.

“Stop shoving, back there!” yelled those in front.  “You’re squashing us flat.”

“Everybody away from the door!” shouted Neil.  “Let’s see if we can’t get it open.”  The fellows finally fell back to some extent, and Neil, Paul, and some of the others examined the lock.  The key was still there, but, unfortunately, on the outside.  Breaking the door down was utterly out of the question, since it was of solid oak and several inches thick.  The self-appointed committee shook its several heads.

“We’ll have to yell for the janitor,” said Neil.  “Where does he hang 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.