The Rover Boys in Business | Page 3

Tom, can't you!" pleaded poor Songbird, growing
decidedly red in the face. "Miss Sanderson is only a friend of mine, and
you know it."
Just at that moment the students at the table were interrupted by the
approach of a tall, dudish-looking individual, who wore a
reddish-brown suit, cut in the most up-to-date fashion, and who sported
patent-leather shoes, and a white carnation in his buttonhole. The
newcomer took a vacant chair, sitting down with a flourish.
"I've had a most delightful ramble, don't you know," he lisped, looking
around at the others. "I have been through the sylvan woods and by the
babbling brook, and have----"
"Great Caesar's tombstone!" exclaimed Tom, looking at the newcomer
critically. "Why, my dearly beloved William Philander, you don't mean
to say that you have been delving through the shadowy nooks, and
playing with the babbling brook, in that outfit?"
"Oh, dear, no, Tom!" responded William Philander Tubbs. "I had
another suit on, the one with the green stripe, don't you know,-- the one
I had made last September-- or maybe it was in October, I can't really
remember. But you must know the suit, don't you?"
"Sure! I remember the suit. The green-striped one with the faded-out
blue dots and the red diamond check in the corner. Isn't that the same
suit you took down to the pawnbroker's last Wednesday night at fifteen

minutes past seven and asked him to loan you two dollars and a half on
it, and the pawnbroker wanted to know if the suit was your own?"
"My dear Tom!" and William Philander looked aghast. "You know
well enough I never took that suit to a pawnbroker."
"Well, maybe it was some other suit. Possibly the black one with the
blue stripes, or maybe it was the blue one with the black stripes. Really,
my dearest Philander, it is immaterial to me what suit it was." And Tom
looked coldly indifferent as he buttered another slice of bread.
"But I tell you, I never went to any pawn-broker!" pleaded the dudish
student. "I would not be seen in any such horrid place!"
"Oh, pawnbrokers are not so bad," came from Spud Jackson, as he
helped himself to more potatoes. "I knew of one fellow down in New
Haven who used to loan thousands of dollars to the students at Yale. He
was considered a public benefactor. When he died they closed up the
college for three days and gave him a funeral over two miles long. And
after that, the students raised a fund of sixteen thousand dollars with
which to erect a monument to his memory. Now, that is absolutely true,
and if you don't believe it you can come to my room and I will show
you some dried rose leaves which came from one of the wreathes used
at the obsequies." And a general laugh went up over this extravagant
statement.
"The same old Spud!" cried Sam, as he gave the story-teller of the
college a nudge in the ribs. "Spud, you are about as bad as Tom."
"Chust vat I tinks," came from Max Spangler, a German-American
student who was still struggling with the difficulties of the language.
"Only I tinks bod of dem vas worser dan de udder." And at this rather
mixed statement another laugh went up.
"I wish you fellows would stop your nonsense and talk baseball," came
from Bob Grimes, another student. "Do you realize that if we expect to
do anything this spring, we have got to get busy?"

"Well, Bob," returned Sam, "I don't see how that is going to interest me
particularly. I don't expect to be on any nine this year."
"I know, Sam, but Tom, here, has promised to play if he can possibly
get the time."
"And so I will play," said Tom. "That is, provided I remain at Brill."
"What, do you mean to say you are going to leave!" cried several
students.
"We can't do without you, Tom," added Songbird.
"Of course we can't," came from Bob Grimes. "We need Tom the worst
way this year."
"Well, I'll talk that over with you fellows some other time. To-night we
are in a hurry." And thus speaking, Tom tapped his brother on the
shoulder, and both left the dining-room.
As my old readers know, the Rover boys possessed a very fine
automobile. This was kept in one of the new garages on the place,
which was presided over by Abner Filbury, the son of the old man who
had worked for years around the dormitories.
"Is she all ready, Ab?" questioned Tom, as the young man came
forward to greet them.
"Yes, sir, I filled her up with gas and oil, and she's in apple-pie order."
"Why, Tom!" broke in Sam, in surprise. "You must have