man valiantly. The swaying crowd backed against L. Putney Betts's centre-table and over went the drop-light and fine cigar box.
It was dark as a pocket. Some one ran down the hall-way and thumped upon the door, for the noise had startled the dwellers in the rooms along the corridor.
"Here's Mat! Here's Mat!" they shouted, and joined in the pounding.
In the darkness and confusion a deep puffing voice was heard.
"What's going on here? Let me in! Stop it there!"
The door opened and a burly figure forced its way through the crowd.
Well known, well liked, and feared, Matt Goldie, the proctor, had hardly ever failed to stop or quell any disturbance by the mere intervention of his presence. But this occasion was an exception.
To and fro in the darkness surged the struggling mass. Matt extended his great arms.
"Stop this right here," he cried, "or you will be all up before the faculty! Do you hear what I say!"
He had grasped two of the combatants and tossed them to either side, when, suddenly, he
