an's attitude.

"This is Billy Burton, the sweet singer of the Wabash," he said,
indicating a stocky youth with a shock of red hair. "We call him the
Indiana Nightingale, because he's so different. You ought to hear him
sing 'We Give the Baby Garlic, So that We Can Find Him in the Dark!' The
sentiment's so strong, it brings tears to your eyes."

"You're pretty good at music yourself, Mel," retorted Billy.

"I?" said Melvin in surprise. "Why I don't know one note from another. I
don't think I could play a jewsharp or a hand-organ. What kind of music
am I good at?"

"Chin music," replied Billy.

Melvin was fairly caught, and the boys howled.

"You got me that time, Billy," Melvin cried. "But, talking of music,
here's the real goods in that line," and he laid his hand on the
shoulder of an olive-skinned Italian boy, with delicate features and
large dark eyes.

"This is Tony Dirocco," he went on; "Tony's a count or some other high
muckamuck in his own country, and he's studying here while his father is
at Washington on some diplomatic business or other. But Tony doesn't
care half as much about books as he does about music. Say, when he gets
hold of a violin he fairly makes it talk. Real high brow stuff, you
know, operas and things like that, the kind that goes right up and down
your spine and takes your heart out by the roots. Just wait until he
gives us one of his concerts all by himself."

Tony shook hands with a shy smile, and the boys made up their minds that
they were going to like him immensely.

"Now for our Spanish athlete," said Granger, "the man who 'throws the
bull.' This is Slim Haley," and he nodded toward a fat chubby fellow who
must have weighed close to two hundred pounds. His broad face was
wreathed with smiles, and his eyes twinkled with fun, as he came
forward.

"This puny infant," went on Melvin, "can tell the most wonderful stories
you ever heard, and tell them with such an innocent air that sometimes
you almost believe him. He's got Baron Munchausen skinned a mile. He was
telling me one to-day about a rabbit, and I sat watching him, expecting
every minute to see him choke."

"Oh, come off, Mel," laughed "Slim." "You see," he said, turning to the
boys, "the trouble with Mel is that he hasn't imagination enough to
understand anything he hasn't seen himself. Now that story of the
rabbit----"

"Let's hear it, and judge for ourselves," suggested Fred.

"Why, it was like this," said Slim. "I