brows, and so what's the matter with cutting up some?"
"Dutch, I'm surprised at you!" exclaimed Tom, reproachfully.
"Why? What's the matter?" asked the fun-loving youth, innocently.
"Wanting to skylark at a time like this, just because the authorities are in statuo quo," went on Tom. "Not on your life, Dutch! It's fun enough to play some tricks when you're taking chances on getting caught. Now it would be like taking pie from a baby in arms."
"I guess you're right," admitted Dutch Housenlager, contritely. "We'll defer the operation," he went on, in solemn tones. "I think the patient will survive until morning."
Seldom had there been such an attendance at service as greeted Dr. Churchill when he stood on the platform in the Booker Memorial Chapel the next morning. The early sun glinted in through the stained glass windows, and seemed to pervade the room with a mystic light that added to the solemnity of the occasion.
The Scriptural selection was from one of the Psalms of David—one of those beautiful prose poems which are such a comfort in times of trouble. And as the vibratant tones of the venerable president's voice rose and fell, when he feelingly spoke the words, it seemed to the boys, care-
