"I should say yes," came from Stanley.

William Philander was approaching with long strides. In one hand he held the poster Tom had fastened on his back, and he was shaking his other fist wrathfully.

"Tom Rover, you've--er--insulted me!" he gasped as he came up. "You've humiliated me before the whole cla.s.s! I'll--I'll----" The dudish student was so full of wrath he could not speak.

"Take a cough drop and clear your throat Billy," suggested Tom, coolly.

"Don't get so excited, you might drop dead from heart disease."

"How dare you put that--er--that advertis.e.m.e.nt of Gumley's Red Pills on my back?" stormed the stylishly-dressed one.

"'Gumley's Red Pills for Red-Blooded People,'" quoted Spud, from the poster. "Say, they are fine, Willie. Didn't you ever take 'em?"

"No, and I don't want to. I want Tom Ro----"

"Say, if you haven't taken any of Gumley's pills you don't know what you've missed," went on Spud, with a wink at the others. "Why, there was a man over in Rottenberg who was flat on his back with half a dozen fatal diseases. The doctors gave him just three days to live,--three days, think of it! His wife nearly cried her eyes out. Then along came this Gumley man with a trunk full of his Red Pills for Red-Blooded People. He didn't exactly know if the dying man was red-blooded or not, but he took a chance and gave the fellow sixteen pills, four after breakfast, four after dinner, four after supper and four on retiring, and the next day, what do you think happened? That man got up and went to work, and he's been at his Job ever since."

"Yes, and not only that," added Tom, earnestly. "That man organized a tug-of-war team,--the plumbers against the Local Conclave of the R. W.

Q. Society,--and they've had three tug-of-war matches, and he has pulled the R. W. Q. Society over the line every time. Talk about pills that are worth their weight in gold! Why, Gumley's Red Pills for Red-Blooded People are worth their weight in diamonds, and you ought to get down on your bended knees and thank somebody for having been given the opportunity to advertise them."

"Oh, you make me--er--tired, don't you know," gasped William Philander.

"It was a--er--a horrid trick. All the cla.s.s were laughing at me. And when I opened my Greek book, out fell one of those horrid bills! And then I dropped another bill on the platform, and--oh, it was awful!

I'll never forgive you, Tom Rover, never!" And William Philander stalked away, still clutching the poster in his hand.

"Poor William Philander!" murmured Sam. "It was rather a rough joke, Tom."

"Oh, it will do him good," was the answer. "He's too uppish to live."

"Yes, he wants some of the conceit knocked out of him," added Stanley.

"But come on, if we are going for a walk, let us get started."

"Wish I had been in the cla.s.sroom to see the fun," mused Tom, his old-time grin overspreading his face. No matter how old Tom got he'd never give up his boyish pranks.

The crowd of students were soon on the way in the direction of the Sanderson farm. But at the first turn in the road they left that highway, and following a path across a pasture lot, plunged into the depths of what was known as Lanker's woods. Through the woods ran a fair-sized stream of water, and at one spot there was an old dam and the remains of a saw mill, now going to decay.

"Sam, don't you wish you had the old _Dartaway_ back," remarked Stanley, presently. "You used to cover this part of the country pretty well with that flying machine?"

"I've never wanted it back since it got smashed up on the railroad track," was the answer. "Flying was good enough, but I don't think I was cut out for a birdman."

"I'd like to go up again some day," put in Tom. "But not regularly.

I'd rather travel in an auto, or behind a fast horse."

"Give me a horse every time," said Songbird. And then he warbled softly:

"To rush along at railroad speed, In auto, or on wings of air, Is well enough for some, I think, To make you jump and make you stare.

But when I journey roundabout, I'll take a horse, or maybe two, And then I'll--I'll----"

"And then I won't bust any tires And walk home feeling pretty blue!"

added Tom. "Say, that's right, Songbird, although you can't burst tires on a flying machine," he added.

"That isn't just the way I was going to finish the verse," said the would-be poet. "But it will do."

On went the boys, deeper and deeper into the woods, chatting gaily and occasionally singing s.n.a.t.c.hes of college songs. Sam kept close to his brother and he was glad to note that Tom was acting quite like his old self.

"What he needs is plenty of fresh air and rest from studying," thought the younger Rover. "Hang it all, it was a mistake for Tom to get down to the grind so soon. He ought to have taken a trip out West, or to Europe, or somewhere."

Presently the students came out on the bank of the stream and there, in the sunshine, they rested on a fallen tree and some rocks. It was pleasant to watch the swiftly-rushing water, as it tumbled over the stones.

"The brook is pretty strong on account of those rains we had," remarked Sam.

"Yes, I never saw it so swift," answered Stanley.

"Humph! this is nothing," announced Spud. "I saw it once when it ran so swiftly that the water couldn't make the turn at the bend below here and ran right up the hill and over on Shelby's barn, drowning sixteen cows! And some of the water hit the barn roof and bounced off into the chimney of Shelby's cottage and put out the fire, and----"

"Wow, Spud! put on the soft pedal!" interrupted Sam.

"Oh, it's absolutely true. Some day I'll show you the tombstone they erected over the sixteen cows. It's of granite and a hundred and ten feet high."

"Never mind the tombstone," interrupted Tom. "What I want to see is the match box Shelby stored that water in after it hit the barn." And at this sally a general laugh went up.

On the boys went again, and half an hour later reached the abandoned saw mill. All that was left was the dam with the broken wheel and one end of what had once been a long, low, one-storied building.

"Let's have a look inside," suggested Stanley, and led the way, and the others followed. Sam was the last to enter, coming directly behind his brother and he saw Tom suddenly put his hand to the back of his head and stop.

"Does it hurt again, Tom?" he whispered, kindly.

"Just a--a--spasm!" gasped poor Tom, and then he drew a long breath.

"There, it's gone now," he added, and walked on. Sam sighed and shook his head. What was this queer condition of Tom going to lead to? It made him shiver to think of it.

There was but little to see in the old mill. It was a damp, unwholesome place, and the boys soon came out again. Not far away was a well hole, rather deep and partly filled with water.

Tom was the first to notice this hole, which was partly covered with rotted boards. Of a sudden he commenced to grin, as if he scented a huge joke. He ran up and rearranged the rotted boards, so they completely covered the hole. Then in the center he placed the bright-colored cap he had been wearing, and hurried along, to the path leading beside the dam.

"Hi, Stanley!" he called out, as the others came from the mill. "Get my cap, will you? The wind blew it off. It's back there somewhere."

"I see it!" shouted Stanley.

"I see it, too," came from Spud, who was close by. "I'll race you for it, Stan."

"Done!" was the reply, and side by side the two collegians raced for the cap.

"An apple for the fellow who wins!" shouted Sam, who saw nothing wrong in what was going on.

"Leg it, both of you!" added Songbird.

Side by side Stanley and Spud sped over the uneven ground in the direction of the cap. Then both made a plunge forward in true football style. In a heap they landed on the rotted boards, each catching hold of the coveted headwear. Then came an ominous crash, and both boys disappeared headlong into the well hole!

"Look! Look what has happened!" shrieked Sam, in dismay.