“Oh, I’ll sneak out and get ’em as soon as it’s dark enough. You can work it so as to get some stuff from our worthy matron; can’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“Then leave the rest to me, and ask as many fellows of our particular crowd as you can squeeze into the room. Pack ’em in like sardines. The more the merrier. We’ll make this a record spread.”
“Jove, a spread just after you’ve organized a strike!” exclaimed Bert Wilson, admiringly. “Say, you do do things, Tom Fairfield.”
“Oh, what’s the use sitting around like a bump on a log?” asked our hero. “Now we’ll go to supper, and mind, every fellow is to stow away in his pockets anything not in a liquid form that he can. Bring it to the feast, for I can’t lug in any too much all by my lonesome.”
“I’ll go with you,” volunteered several eagerly.
“No, if two of us go out together it will create suspicions, and all eyes are on us now, as Napoleon said to his soldiers in Egypt, or was it in South Africa? Anyhow, I’ll sneak out as soon as it’s dark enough, and get what I can.”
There was a subdued air of expectancy at the Freshman supper that night, and many whispers ran around. It was noticed, too, that many of the lads had unusually large appetites, but they did not seem to be eating as much as they asked for. There were sly motions which some of the waiters could not understand, for they were caused when the diners slipped food into their pockets.
“Assemble in my room one at a time, as soon after the signal ‘lights out’ as possible,” explained Tom, when the meal was over. It was a rule that the boys must have their rooms in darkness after 9:30 o’clock, unless special permission for studying was obtained. “Don’t go in bunches,” advised our hero, “but a few at a time. I’m off to town.”
Watching his chance, Tom managed to elude a monitor, though, truth to tell, so amazing had the strike seemed to all the college authorities, that they were dazed, and really did not keep as close a watch over the Freshmen as usual.