"Of course you do," said Tom. "We'll have some fun on the run. And think of the supper 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.