The whole group seemed to be taking it pretty well, actually. I was growing fond of them. There's a contingent from Tennessee. There's mellow Clara. There's Vinnie, who'll be studying Italian so he can talk to his grandparents. And there's Radi, his roommate from Jordan who already speaks Italian. Chris Lees used to repair computers in California. He gave me his business card. "For you, Josh, it'll be on the house," he said.

I WASN'T intimate enough with the group, though, to know that there were a few guys missing. It seemed, there were some Canaday F-ers who weren't going to take losing as easily as I was.

I was on the steps. Before I knew it, someone (no names, no names) bolted past me into Canaday F. whooping. In his her arms, extended above his/her head, was the Yard Plate. Amazing.

And on the sixth night, the glory was ours...

Seconds later, the door was locked and barricaded and another horde (Grays Middle, I presume) arrived. Their overzealous prefect Victor made his way inside and starting busting some heads. There's a new sherriff in town, boys.

I put my hand on his shoulder and asked if we could talk.

"Screw talk," he growled. "I want my plate."

By the time we got Victor calmed down, there were a couple of Crimson Key guys involved. They didn't care who had The Plate. They just wanted to get the thing to the engraver's on time.

Down from her second-floor suite came proctor Clare. Displaying a cool head for diplomacy. Clare told the boys to keep The Plate, at least for the night. She checked with the senior advisor to make sure this wan't one of those things Harvard might get touchy about.

It wasn't.

And on the sixth night of Orientation Week, glory was ours. Until the next morning, that is, when the group left their own set of clues in a special extension of the hunt courtesy of Canaday F-entry. Nine clues later. Grays Middle had their due.

But we had the picture.

Joshua W. Shenk '93 plans to win The Plate next year, fair and square.