per we will eat after it. I'm going to see if we can't
have a little something extra."

And he went to the kitchen of the eating hall where he and his chums
dined, to wheedle the chef into serving generous portions after the
cross-country run.

CHAPTER VIII

LOST IN THE WOODS

"Fairfield, Fitch, Wilson, Abbot," remarked the official checker-out,
as Tom and his three chums trotted out of the door of the gymnasium on
the afternoon of the cross-country run. "All right boys. Getting away
in good time," and the Senior student who was acting in the official
capacity smiled in rather a patronizing manner. "Now if you check in
together you'll be doing well. Take it easy. You haven't got much of
a run, and you've oceans of time to do it in."

"Huh! I guess you think this isn't much of a Marathon," remarked Jack,
pausing to address the checker, who had marked their names down on a
slip of paper.

"Neither it is, son," came the answer. "In my day we had lots of
stiffer ones."

"And did the fellows all make good?" asked Tom, for though he and his
chums had spent one year at Elmwood Hall this was the first big run
they had taken part in, and on it depended much--their chance to play
on the big eleven.

"Oh, most of 'em did," replied the Senior. "Of course some couldn't
stand the pace, and others wouldn't. But, as I say, it was stiffer in
those days. I don't know what the world is coming to, anyhow," and he
looked as though he had on his shoulders a large share of the
responsibility of regulating the universe. "You'd better cut away,
fellows," he added, "for, though you've got lots of time, it's better
to loaf on the other end of the run than on this one. Hike!"

"He doesn't give himself any airs; does he? Oh no!" exclaimed Bert
sarcastically, as he jogged along beside his chums.

"Oh, that's the way with all Seniors," said Jack.

"I hope we'll not be," murmured Tom.

"Do you think we will?" asked George Abbot. "I wonder what makes
Seniors think they're so high and mighty? Do you think we'll make this
run? Will------"

"Foolish question number six thousand four hundred and twenty-one!"
interrupted Tom, with a laugh. "Now if you're going to start on your
interrogatory stunt, Georgie my lad, you'll make this run alone. I'm
not going to get dry in the roof of my mouth answering questions."

"All right, I won't ask any more," promised the lad who was such a
questioner.

"I wonder who are just