pily been forgotten in the joy of life at Milton. Now it
loomed up again.

"That's right, that cad Mort does hang out at New Haven," remarked Tom.
"That is, he did. But maybe they've fired him," he added, hopefully.

"No such luck," spoke Andy, ruefully. "I had a letter from my sister
only the other day, and she mentioned some row that Mort had gotten into
at Yale. Came within an ace of being taken out, but it was smoothed
over. No, I'll have to rub up against him if I go there."

"Well, you don't need to have much to do with him," suggested Frank.

"And you can just make up your mind that I won't," spoke Andy. "I'll
steer clear of him from the minute I strike New Haven. But don't let's
talk about it. Where's that waiter, anyhow? Has he gone out to kill a
fatted calf?"

"Here he comes," announced Ben. "Get a move on there, Adolph!"

"Yah!"

"And don't wait for my French fried potatoes to sprout, either," added
Chet.

"Yah, shure not!"

"Oh, look who's here!" exclaimed Tom, nodding toward a newcomer. "Shoot
in over here, Swipes!" he called to a tall lad, whose progress through
the room was marked by friendly calls on many sides. He was a general
favorite, Harry Morton by name, but seldom called anything but "Swipes,"
from a habit he had of taking or "swiping" signs, and other mementoes of
tradesmen about town; the said signs and insignia of business later
adorning his room.

"Got space?" asked Harry, as he paused at the little compartment which
held our friends.

"Surest thing you know, Swipes. Shove over there, Frank. Are you trying
to hog the whole bench?"

"Not when Swipes is around," was the retort. "I'll leave that to him."

"Half-ton benches are a little out of my line," laughed the newcomer, as
he found room at the table. "Bring me a rarebit, Adolph, and don't leave
out the cheese."

"No, sir, Mr. Morton! Ho! ho! Dot's a goot vun! A rarebit mitout der
cheese! Ach! Dot is goot!" and the fat German waiter went off chuckling
at the old joke.

"What's the matter, Andy, you look as if you'd had bad news from your
best girl?" asked Harry, clapping Andy on the shoulder. "Cheer up, the
worst is yet to come."

"You're right there!" exclaimed Andy, heartily. "The worst _is_ yet to
come. I'm going to Yale----"

"Hurray! Rah! rah! That's the stuff! But talk about the worst, I can't
see it. I wish I were in your rubbers."

"And that dub Mortimer Gaffington is there, too," went on Andy. "That's
the wors