"Have you got an interest in that show?" asked the druggist, as he continued to compound the prescription.

"Not yet, but I may have," answered William Philander, calmly. "It will be quite a grand affair, I presume."

"They say it will be the best Ashton ever had."

"Is that so! Then I am very glad I came to take part," went on William Philander, warming up. "I am sure I can be of great service to Messrs.

Carr and Beckwith. I have had a great deal of experience, you know."

"Thought you said you were from Brill?"

"Oh, yes, but, don't you know, I have a.s.sisted at many entertainments,"

gushed William Philander. "Why, some entertainments would have been absolute failures if I had not taken part."

"Hum, is that so!" returned the druggist. Tubbs' dudish ways did not strike him very favorably. "Well, here is Mr. Beckwith now, you can tell him about it," he added.

A burly, red-faced man, with a heavy moustache, had entered. He was evidently in a hurry and full of business.

"Anybody call about that job, Mr. Carter?" he asked, abruptly.

"This young man wants to see you," answered the druggist, and indicated William Philander.

"You are Mr. Beckwith?"

"Yes."

"Permit me," and the stylish-dressed student presented his card. "I was told you were getting up an entertainment and needed some a.s.sistance," continued William Philander. "Now I have had a great deal of experience in that line, and the ladies always seem to be glad to see me. I can aid in getting up the proper programme, and all that, you know. I was on the committee of the Charity Bazaar, and the Plainvine Dog Show, and the Ladies' Aid of the Golden Hope Society, and the Blue Banner Social, and----"

"Say, what are you pouring into me?" gasped Mr. Beckwith, in astonishment. "Do you think I am running a pink tea, or a ladies'

sewing circle? I don't need anybody to help me to get up a programme; my partner, Mr. Carr, attends to that end of it. What I need is a strong, willing fellow to take tickets and usher folks to seats, and keep the floor free of rubbish, and all that."

"W-h-a-t!" shrieked William Philander. "You--you--what sort of an entertainment are you going to give?" he faltered.

"Why, didn't you know? We are going to open the Eclipse Moving Picture Theater, in Cameron's Hall, over yonder. We advertised for a young man, to take tickets, usher, and make himself generally useful. We'll have a little vaudeville with the photo plays, and if the young fellow can sing, or dance, we'll give him a chance at it."

"Oh, dear me! Did you ever!" gasped poor William Philander. And then, as he saw that the girls at the soda fountain had heard all that was going on, he turned red.

"I hardly think you will do for the job," went on the moving picture man. "You don't look--er--well, strong enough."

"Job," wailed William Philander. "I--er--I don't want any job! Oh, this is dreadful, horrible! It's one of Tom Rover's jokes! I might have known it. Sent me all the way to Ashton to try to get a position in a horrid moving picture show! Oh, this is the worst ever!" And looking the picture of despair, poor Tubbs rushed from the drug store, with the laughter of the proprietor, the show man, and the girls ringing in his ears.

From the window and the side door Tom, Sam, and the others had seen and heard all that took place. They had all they could do to suppress their mirth, and when Tubbs came storming out of the drug store they lost no time in disappearing out of sight behind the building. They watched the stylishly-dressed student prance down the street, brandishing his cane viciously in the air.

"Just wait till he catches you, Tom," remarked Spud.

"He'll about half kill you," added Stanley.

"Oh, I guess I can stand it," answered the fun-loving Rover, calmly.

"It was rather a rough joke," was Sam's comment.

"Oh, he needs something like that, to take the awful conceit out of him," came from Songbird. "Why, he is getting worse and worse every day. Half the students are down on him. This may do him good."

"I doubt if you can make William Philander improve," was Stanley's comment. "The only thing that will do it is to send him off to sea, or on a ranch, and make him rough it for a while."

Tom expected to see Tubbs that evening, but the dudish student kept out of sight. He did not show himself until Sunday afternoon, and then he had but little to say. But he eyed Tom in a manner that was new to William Philander.

"He is going to get back at you, Tom," said Sam. "Better keep your eyes open."

On Monday afternoon Tom and Sam went down to the water for a short row.

They came back just before supper and rushed up to their room to fix up a bit.

"h.e.l.lo, the door is locked!" cried Tom, trying it.

"And the keyhole is plugged," added Sam, taking a look.

Then the brothers looked at each other.

"I guess William Philander Tubbs did it," said Tom.

CHAPTER IX

WILLIAM PHILANDER TURNS THE TABLES

It was useless to try to open the door. The lock was filled up with a wad of paper that refused to budge.

"If it's only paper we can burn it out," suggested Sam. "But it may scorch the door."

"We'll go through by the way of Songbird's room," said Tom.

There was a door connecting the two rooms. It was not supposed to be used, for one of the beds was against it. But the bed was rolled to one side by Tom. Songbird and his roommate had already gone below.

"Here's the key," said Sam, bringing it from a nearby nail. "It's a wonder William Philander didn't plug this keyhole, too."

"Maybe he didn't have time," answered Tom. "Always supposing it really was Tubbs."

"That's so--iy may have been somebody else."

The connecting door was unlocked and Tom and Sam walked into their own apartment. Both gave a cry of astonishment.

And not without reason. The room had been "stacked," and every boy who has ever attended boarding school or college knows what that means. In the center of the room lay the parts of the two beds in a heap and on top of those parts were piled a miscellaneous collection of books, chairs, clothing, the table and bureau, looking gla.s.s, an empty water pitcher, football, baseball bats, shoes, bed clothing, rugs, papers, pens, pencils, soap, caps, a steamer trunk from the closet, several framed photographs, some college banners, and a score of other articles. On the very top of the heap was a fancy sofa pillow Nellie had given to Tom and to this was pinned a card, on which was written, in a disguised scrawl:

_Hoping you will enjoy your job!_

"It was William Philander all right enough,", murmured Sam, as he and his brother inspected the card. "You sent him to one job, and he is sending us to another," and he heaved a deep sigh.