"Here's to good old Yale-drink it down! Here's to good old Yale-drink it down! Here's to good old Yale, She's so hearty and so hale- Drink it down! Drink it down! down! down!" From the open window of his rooms on York Street Frank Merriwell heard the distant chorus of a rollicking band of students who had been having a merry evening in town. Frank had passed his examinations successfully and had been admitted as a student at Yale. In order to accomplish this without taking a preparatory course at Phillips Academy, he had found it necessary to vigorously "brush up" the knowledge he had acquired at the Fardale Military Academy which was a college preparatory school. Professor Scotch, Frank's guardian, had been of great assistance to him, for the professor knew just about what would be required at the entrance examination, and he had kept the boy digging away away at the propositions in the First Book of Euclid, had drilled him in Caesar, caused him to spend weary hours over Virgil and the Iliad, and made him not a little weary of his Xenophon. As he passed without a condition, although he had been told again and again that a course at Phillips Academy was almost an absolute necessity, Frank was decidedly grateful to the professor.