is bed.
"Are the others invited?"

"Sure--a round dozen," answered Stanley.

Room 14 was at the end of the corridor and occupied by two students
named Lane and Parley, whole-souled fellows who were always ready for a
good time. The room was so located that it had much more privacy than
the other apartments.

Soon the boys had gathered,--as jolly a crowd as could be found at
Brill. Max and Spud had spread themselves, it being the German-American
lad's birthday.

"Say, this is certainly fine!" cried Sam, as he surveyed several big
cakes, two hands of bananas, some grapes, and several bricks of
ice-cream of various flavors.

"How are you going to serve the ice-cream?" asked Dick.

"Oh, we're all prepared!" cried Spud, and exhibited a "nest" of paper
saucers and another of paper plates, and then a handful of tin spoons.
"I thought these would answer better than the real thing, for when we
have finished we won't have to wash anything--we can throw the whole
mess away."

"Say, that's Spud," cried the student named Lane. "Once he had to wash
dishes at a picnic we went to and you ought to see the face he cut."

"Come, git busy alretty!" cried Max, as he flourished a knife and
commenced to cut one of the cakes. "Spud, chop the ice-cream up right
avay!"

"All right, me for the chopping!" cried Spud cheerfully, and soon the
cream was being passed around to the assembled students, and the cake
and fruit followed.

"Fine!" cried Tom, as he smacked his lips over the feast. "Max, you have
my full permission to have a birthday once a week."

"Yes, and when you miss a week let Spud take your place," added Sam.

"One thing I can't understand, Spud," said Dick, with great seriousness,
and everybody present stopped eating to hear what the eldest Rover might
have to say.

"What can't you understand?" asked Spud innocently.

"How you could get up a feast like this and forget to supply such an
important thing."

"What important thing?" demanded Spud, and he suddenly looked a trifle
worried.

"Potatoes," returned Dick.

For an instant there was silence, and then, as the other boys remembered
Will's love of potatoes--a love that had given him the nickname of
"Spud," there was a wild burst of laughter.

"Say, Spud, that's one on you!"

"Too bad we didn't bring a few praties along, son!"

"We might have fried a few over the light, eh?"

"Don't you worry, dis feast ain't done yet alretty!" cried Max. "Here is
somethin