e I know what a dreadful
thing it is not to have the shade that is really and truly
fashionable."

"Three cheers for William Philander and his Baby's Breath socks!" cried
Sam. "He's the true and only artist!"

"Baby's Breath!" murmured Tom. "Now wouldn't that get your scalp-lock?"
And then there was a merry laugh all around.

There was likewise a letter from Max Spangler, and another from Stanley
Browne, stating they were already on their way to Brill. Then, just
before the boys were ready to leave home, came a letter from Songbird
Powell.

"I'll bet it's in verse," said Dick. "Songbird couldn't write prose to
save his life."

"We'll soon see," said Sam, who held the communication, and he tore it
open. "You win," he added, and then read the following, after the date
line:

"My dearest boys
I'm filled with joys
To think that we
Together shall be
In a week or more!
Oh, the fun in store!
And also the work--
Which we can't shirk--
And the pleasant meetings,
And pleasant greetings,----"

"He was thinking of Minnie Sanderson when he wrote that," interrupted
Tom.

"Sure thing," returned Dick; for all of the Rovers knew that the
would-be poet was deeply smitten with the farmer's daughter. He had
written several poems about her, and had also given her several
presents.

"Well, there are twelve pages of the doggerel," said Sam, glancing over
the sheets. "Here, you can read over my shoulders," and this was done,
amid much merriment. Songbird had but little news and promised to be at
college when they arrived.

"Oh, I hope the _Dartaway_ carries us there in good shape," murmured
Tom. "It will be an arrival worth remembering!"

Before he left home Dick had a long talk with his father and his Uncle
Randolph. When he rejoined his brothers he was unusually sober.

"What is it, dad's business affairs?" queried Sam.

"Yes, Sam."

"Are they in bad shape?" questioned Tom, quickly. "What's gone wrong?"

"It's something about those mining shares that dad and Uncle Randolph
invested in," answered Dick. "I'll give you the particulars later. They
don't want Aunt Martha to know about it, for it will only make her worry
without doing any good. I'm afraid dad and Uncle Randolph are in it
bad," went on Dick, soberly.

"Can't something be done?" asked Tom.

"Not just now. Dad is going to Chicago about it next wee