“That’s the way to talk,” responded Allen.

“But it is.  I’m not joking,” persisted Peter John seriously.

“No doubt.  No doubt.  But what we’ve come for is to tell you about the parade.”

“Parade?  What parade?” inquired Foster.

“Why, every fall there is a parade of the freshmen.  They have a band usually, at least most of the classes have had one and as yours is the best class that ever entered college, why you won’t want to fall behind the others I know.”

“Who pays for the band?” demanded Peter John.

“You do, that is, your class does.”

“I won’t pay a cent,” retorted Peter John.

“You don’t have to,” laughed Allen.  “Some of the others will make it up.  I’m just telling you what the custom is and only for your own good.”

“Go on with your story,” interrupted Will.  “Let’s hear about the parade.”

“It’s to come off next Saturday afternoon, and we juniors usually help out in the scheme, you see.  We try to arrange a part of it for you and help you out in some of the details.  The whole thing is ‘horse play,’ just a sort of burlesque, and the more ridiculous you can make it, the better.”

“I’ll not make a fool of myself for anybody,” spoke up Peter John sharply.

“You don’t have to.  It won’t be necessary,” replied Allen quietly, but in the laugh that followed, Peter John took no part.

“What do you want us to do?” inquired Foster.

“Well, we suggest that this young man—­I’ve forgotten his name,” said Allen, turning to Peter John as he spoke.

“Schenck.  Peter John Schenck—­that’s my name, and I’m not ashamed of it either!” said that worthy promptly.  “But I don’t propose to hire a band and march around the streets making a fool of myself for anybody.”

“You don’t have to,” and again a laugh arose at the junior’s words.  “I was only suggesting, that’s all.  But if you want to know what I think, I’m of the opinion that if you’d be one to help haul the committee from the senior class around in their chariot it would be a good thing for you.  That’s only a suggestion on my part, as I told you, and you can do as you please about it.”

“I don’t please to do it,” replied Peter John sulkily.

“What’s the ‘chariot’ you spoke of, Allen?” inquired Will.

“Oh, it’s only an old hay wagon.  It’s been the custom for some of the freshmen to haul the officers of the senior class around in it.  It doesn’t amount to much, but honestly I think it will be a good thing for you to do it.”

“All right, you can count on me,” said Will quickly.

“I don’t want to count on that from you.  I’ve something else for you and Bennett to do.”

“What’s that?”