For the Honor of Randall

"What a glorious night!"

Tom Parsons, standing at the window of the study which he shared with his chums, looked across the campus of Randall College.

"It's just perfect," he went on.

There was no answer from the three lads who, in various attitudes, took their ease, making more or less of pretenses at studying.

"The moon," Tom went on, "the moon is full--"

"So are you-of words," blurted out Sid Henderson, as he leafed his trigonometry.

"It's one of the finest nights--"

"Since nights were invented," broke in Phil Clinton, with a yawn. "Dry up, Tom, and let us bone, will you?"

Unmoved by the scorn of his chums, the tall lad at the casement, gazing out on the scene, which, to do him justice, had wonderfully moved him, continued to stand there. Then, in a quiet voice, as though unconscious of the presence of the others, he spoke:

"The moon o'er yonder hilltop rises, a silver disk, like unto a warrior's shield, whereon he, from raging battle coming, is either carried upon it, or bears it proudly as--"

"Oh for cats' sake!" fairly yelled Frank Simpson, the Big Californian, as he had been dubbed. He shied his book full at Tom Parsons, catching him in the back, and bringing to a close the blank verse our hero was spouting, with a grunt that greatly marred it.

"Say, you fellows can't appreciate anything decent!" shot back the lad at the window. "If I try to raise you above the level of the kindergarten class you are in deep water. I suppose I should have said: 'Oh see the moon. Does the moon see me? The moon sees me. What a pretty moon!' Bah! You make me tired. Here we have the most glorious night of the winter, with a full moon, snow on the ground to make it as light as day, a calm, perfect night--"

"Oh perfect night!" mocked Sid.

"Vandal!" hissed Tom.

"Go on! Hear Hear! Bravo!" cried Phil. "Let the noble Senator proceed!"

"Oh, for the love of mustard!" broke in the big lad who had tossed his book at Tom. "There's no use trying to do any work with this mob. I'm going over to see Dutch Housenlager. He won't spout blank verse when I want to bone, and that's some comfort."

"No, but he'll want to get you into some horse-play, like tying knots in Proc. Zane's socks, or running the flag up at half mast on the chapel," declared Tom. "You had much better stay here, Frank. I've got something to propose."

"There! I knew it!" cried Phil. "There's a girl in it somewhere, or Tom would never be so poetical. Who is she, Tom? and when are you going to propose?"

"Oh, you fellows are worse than the measles," groaned the lad who had been looking at the moonlight. "I'm done with you. I leave you to your fate."

With a grunt of annoyance Tom turned away from the window, kicked under the sofa the book which Frank had thrown at him, and reached for his cap and coat.

"Where you going?" asked Phil quickly, as he turned over in the deep armchair, causing the ancient piece of furniture to emit many a groan, and send out a choking cloud of dust. "Whither away, fair sir?"

"Anywhere, to get away from you fellows," grunted the displeased one.

"No, but seriously, where are you going?" asked Frank. "Now that you've broken the ice, I don't mind admitting that I don't care such an awful lot for boning."

Tom paused in the doorway, one arm in and the other out of his coat.

"I'm going out," he answered. "It's too nice to stay in. The coasting must be great on Ridge Hill, and with this moon-say it's a shame to stay in! That's what I've been trying to ding into you fellows, only you wouldn't listen. Why, half of Randall must be out there to-night."

"What about Proc. Zane?" asked Sid, referring to the proctor, who kept watch and ward over the college.

"Nothing doing," answered Tom. "A lot of the fellows went to Moses after the last lecture and got permission to take their bobs over on the hill. There were so many that the good old doctor said he'd raise the rules for to-night, because it was likely to be such a fine one. So there's no danger of being up on the carpet, if we get in at any decent hour."

"Why didn't you say so at first?" demanded Sid. "Of course we'll go. Why didn't you mention it instead--"

"I thought you had some poetry in you," responded Tom. "I tried to make you appreciate the beauty of the night rather than appeal to the sordid side of your natures, and--"

"Cut it out!" begged Phil, with a laugh. "If there's any coasting, and I guess there is, we'll be in it. Come on, fellows, and we'll see how our bob does on the hill."

With laughter and gay talk, now that they had made up their minds to adopt Tom's suggestion, and go coasting, the four chums, than whom there was no more devoted quartette in Randall, passed out into the corridor. As they descended the stairs they heard a subdued hum that told of other students bent on the same errand, and, when they had a glimpse of the snow-covered campus, they beheld many dark figures hurrying along, dragging single sleds or big bobs after them.

"Say, I hope no one pinches ours!" cried Tom, and at the thought he hastened his pace toward an out-building of the gymnasium, where the students kept their bicycles in Summer, and their bobs in Winter.

It was now Winter at Randall, a glorious Winter, following a glorious football season. For several years it had been the custom for the students to indulge in coasting on a big hill about a mile away from the college. Some of the lads clubbed together and had built fine, big bobs, with foot rests, carpet on the top, with immense gongs to sound warning, and with steering wheels that equalled those of autos, while some had drag brakes, to use in case of emergency.

The bob owned jointly by Tom Parsons, Sid Henderson, Phil Clinton and Frank Simpson, was one of the best in Randall. It was fifteen feet long, and could carry quite a party. It needed no small skill and strength to steer it, too, when fully loaded.

Our friends, getting out their sled, soon found themselves in the midst of a throng of fellow students, all hurrying toward the hill. The four chums had hold of the rope to haul the big bob.

"There are the Jersey twins," remarked Sid, as Jerry and Joe Jackson hurried on, dragging a small bob.

"And here comes Dutch," added Phil. "He can ride with us, I guess."

"Sure," assented Tom. "I say, Dutch!" he called. "Got a sled?"

"No. Why should I when there are already plenty?" "Dutch," or otherwise Billy Housenlager, demanded.

"That's right," spoke Frank. "Come on, give us a hand, and we'll give you a ride."

"I am too tired," was the answer, "but I will let you have the honor of pulling me," and, with a sigh of contentment Dutch threw himself down on the big bob.

"Here! Get off, you horse!" cried Sid.

A loud snore was the answer. Sid started back to roll the lazy student off, but Tom, with a wink, indicated a better way of disposing of him. At a signal the four students broke into a run.

"Ah, this beats an auto," murmured Billy.

Suddenly the four swerved sharply, and the bob turned over, spilling Dutch off, into a snow bank.

"Ten thousand double-dyed maledictions upon you!" he spluttered, as he blew the snow out of his mouth. "Just for that I'll not ride with you. Hold on, Jerry-Joe," he called to the Jersey twins, "wait for papa!"

There was a laugh at Dutch and his predicament, and then the crowd of students hurried on, our heroes among them. In a little while they could hear distant shouts, and the clanging of bells.

"Some crowd on the hill," observed Tom. "I told you there'd be sport."

"Right you are, my hearty," agreed Phil. "Whew! I should say there was a mob!" for by this time they had come out on top of the long slope that led down the country road, forming the coasting place, known as Ridge Hill.

While most of the crowd consisted of students from Randall College, there were not a few lads and girls from the neighboring town of Haddonfield, and the shrill voices of the lassies and the hoarser shouts of the boys, mingled musically that moonlit night. The clang of bells on the bobs was constant.

"Come on now, get ready!" called Tom. "Let's take a crowd down."

"Who's going to steer?" asked Phil.

"Let Frank," advised Sid. "He's got the most muscle, and he needs exercise."

"I like your nerve," retorted the Big Californian. But he took his place at the steering wheel, while Tom got on the rear to work the brake, and Sid acted as bell-ringer.

"Get aboard!" invited Tom, and several of his friends among the students piled on.

"May we have a ride?" asked three pretty girls from the town. None of our friends knew them, but it was a common custom to give all a ride for whom there was room, introductions being dispensed with.

"Pile on!" invited Tom.

"I want the one with the red scarf!" sang out Frank, and this girl, with a laugh that showed her even white teeth, took her place behind the steersman. Her companions joined her, with happy laughs. The bob was almost full.

"Room for any more?" asked a voice, and Tom looked up to see a young man and lady looking at him.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Beach!" he exclaimed, as he recognized a friend of his who lived in town. "Of course there is. Get on Mrs. Beach, and we'll give you a fine ride!" The young married couple had often entertained our four friends at their home, and, as Mr. and Mrs. Beach were fond of fun, they had come out to enjoy the coasting.

"All right!" cried Sid, clanging the bell.

"Push us off; will you?" Tom requested of a merry coaster, and the lad with some others obligingly shoved the bob to the edge of the hill. Then they were off, going down like the wind, while the runners scraped the frozen snow sending it aloft in a shower of crystals that the moon turned into silver.

"Oh, this is glorious!" cried the girl back of Frank. "Say, did you ever try to go through the hollow, and up the other hill?"

"No, and I'm not going to," replied Frank, turning his head toward her for an instant, and then getting his eyes on the road again, for there were many sleds and bobs, and it needed all his skill to wind in and out among them.

"Why not?" persisted the girl, with a laugh.

"Too dangerous, with a big sled. We never could make the curve at this speed."

"Some of the town boys do it," she went on.

"Not with a bob like this. Look out there!" Frank yelled as he narrowly missed running into a solitary coaster.

The path to which the girl referred was a sort of lane, running off the main hill road, dipping down, and then suddenly shooting up again, crossing over a slight rise, and finally going down to a small pond. It was a semi-public road, but seldom used. To attempt to negotiate it with a swift bob was perilous, for the least mistake in steering, or a slight accident would send the sled off to one side or the other of the small hill, making an upset almost certain, and, likely broken bones, if nothing worse.

"There goes one boy, now," went on the girl back of Frank, as a coaster shot into the hollow.

"Yes, but he only has a small sled. I'll not try it. If you girls want to--"

"Oh, no indeed!" she hastened to assure him. "This is too much fun. It's good of you to ask us."

The coast soon came to an end, and then came the hard work of dragging the sled up the hill again.

"I wish they had double acting hills," remarked Tom as he pulled on the rope. "Slide down 'em one way, and, when you get to the bottom they'd tip up, and you could slide back-sort of perpetual motion."

"You don't want much," commented Sid with a laugh.

As the boys reached the top of the slope there dashed up a sled filled with young people, drawn by two prancing horses. And fastened to the rear of the sled, was a large bob.

"Now for some fun!" cried a girl's voice.

"Did you hear that?" asked Tom, of Phil. "It sounded like your sister Ruth."

"It is Ruth!" cried Phil, as he caught sight of the girl who had called out. "It's a crowd from Fairview," he added, naming a co-educational institution not far from Randall, at which college Ruth Clinton attended. "Hi, Ruth!" called her brother, "how are you?"

"Oh, Phil," she answered. "So glad to see you! Are the other inseparables there?"

"All of us!" cried Tom, as he glimpsed Madge Tyler. "Come have a ride on our bob."

"Next time," answered Mabel Harrison with a laugh. "We have a prior invitation now."

"Who are with you?" asked Phil of his sister as he reached her side. "Whose bob is that?" and he pointed to the one back of the sled.

"Hal Burton's. He's a new student, rather rich, and sporty I guess. He made up this little party. Oh, it's all right," she hastened to add, as she saw her brother look at her curiously. "We have permission, a chaperone and all the fixings. Trust the ogress, Miss Philock, for that. Isn't it a glorious night?"

"Fine," agreed Phil. "But who is this Burton chap?"

"Come on, and I'll introduce you," and Ruth presented her brother. Among the other girls was a Miss Helen Newton, whom Tom and his chums had not before met. She was also made acquainted with the inseparables.

"And so you won't ride with us?" asked Tom, looking rather regretfully at Miss Tyler.

"Not this time, old man," broke in Burton, with a familiar air that Tom did not like. "I'm going to pilot 'em."

"Do you know the hill?" asked Phil quietly. Somehow he did not like this new student, with his calm air of assurance, and he did not like Ruth to ride with him.

"Oh, I've coasted bigger hills than this," declared the owner of the big bob. "This isn't anything, even if it is a new one. Get on girls and fellows!" he cried. "We'll beat everything on the hill."

"Insolent puppy!" murmured Tom, as he helped swing their own bob around for another coast.

The sled owned by Burton was a fine one, and larger even than that of our friends. There were back-rests for each coaster, and a gong as big as a dinner plate.

"See you later, Phil," called Ruth, as she and her girl friends, together with a throng of others, got aboard.

The big bob was pushed off, Tom and his chums watching with critical eyes. Burton seemed to know his business.

"Well, we might as well go down," remarked Frank, as he took his place. There was a moment's wait, while their bob filled, the same three pretty girls taking their places. Then they were off, Sid ringing the bell vigorously.

Hardly had they started, however, almost in the wake of Burton's sled, than Frank gave a cry of alarm.

"What is it?" shouted Tom, getting ready to jam on the brake. "Steering wheel busted?"

"No, but look!" cried Frank. "That chump Burton is headed right for the hollow cut-off! He'll never make it at that speed, and there'll be a spill!"

For a moment there was a silence, broken only by the scraping of the runners on the hard snow. Then Frank yelled:

"Keep to the right! Keep to the right, Burton! You can't make that turn!"

But Burton either did not hear or did not heed. Straight for the perilous cut-off he steered, and then, as the girls saw their danger, they cried shrilly. But it was too late to turn aside now, and Tom and his chums, coming on like the wind behind the new bob, wondered what would happen, and if there was any way of preventing the accident that seemed almost sure to take place.

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