affectionate. "We like you a lot. You wouldn't let us down now." "I—will—not—do—it! You promised—" "You will, too!" Irv grunted. "Don't give us any backtalk. If I have to twist your ears—" "Use the cigarette lighter," somebody suggested, half ashamed. "He's only bluffing again." "I'm not," the professor said sturdily. "You can burn me, kill me, but I won't tutor this bunch of cretins any more!" "Where does he get those words?" a student wondered aloud. "What's a cretin?" "Irv," Fatty said in a sly, buttery voice, "where's that nasty pooch who adopted the Delts last week? The one that chased the chaplain into Tom Paine Hall. I'll bet he's a first class abbitray oundhay." "Mac," Irv addressed a slender, dark boy, "they keep him in that shed[53] by the athletic field. Go and—ah borrow him, will you?" Mac left. [53] "What's an abbitray oundhay?" the professor quavered. "You'll find out!" Fatty told him grimly. "Don't they teach pig-latin on Venus?" There was a strained silence, while some members of the group whispered protests. But there was no open resistance. Fatty and Irv ran Omega Phi Upsilon with an iron hand. Then the door opened, and Mac, tugging hard at the collar of a large dog, lurched into the room. "Here's Hotspur," he grinned, as the brute strove to mangle the cowering professor. Hotspur was a canine melting pot. The Spitz in his ancestry seemed to predominate, but there were plain traces of airdale, setter—and crowning evidence of some mis-alliance—dachshund. White teeth bared in a slavering snarl, the dog glared at the rabbit, lunging against his collar as Mac held hard. But the professor had collapsed, all his courage gone. "A dog!" he gasped in horror, and Hotspur seemed startled at the human voice emerging from a rabbit. A thin whimper came from the professor. "Take that monster away," he begged. "I'll do anything—anything!" "That's better," Fatty chortled. "But we need this good ol' hound more than the Delts do. Put him down in the basement—just in case." He eyed the professor, who shrank