"That's right, freshman. How are you getting on?"
"They've kept us busy, to say the least."
"You mean the sophs?"
"Yes. That's the only class we have to think of, isn't it?"
"No. Your own class is first."
"It's the best class in college," interrupted Peter John quickly, and
all who were in the room laughed as the uncouth freshman's face flushed.
"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.
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