“Might as well get all we can while it’s coming our way,” explained Tom. “No telling what may happen to-morrow.”
“No, that’s so. Well, I wish I was a Freshman again,” and, with something like a sigh of regret, the Senior passed on.
“There’s something wrong with him,” mused Tom, as he caught a car that would take him near the school. “And I wonder why, with all the money he is supposed to have, that he had to go to a pawn shop? Why didn’t he come to me, or some of the college boys? Too proud, I guess.”
There was snow on the ground and the weather, though cold, bore a promise of more as Tom cautiously made his way by a roundabout course over the campus and to a side door.
“Well, you’re all here, I see,” he remarked as he entered his room, and saw a crowd of congenial lads assembled there. The door communicating with the apartment of Bert Wilson, which portal was seldom unlocked, had been opened, making a fairly large apartment in which to have a forbidden spread.
“Make out all right?” asked Jack.
“Sure, I’ve got a choice assortment of grub. Let’s set the beds,” for they were to serve as tables, covered with large squares of newspapers for table cloths.
“I’ve got the windows and keyholes covered,” explained Jack, pointing to blankets tacked over the glass.
“Good! Now let the merry feast go on, and joy be loosed. For we’ll eat to-day and starve to-morrow.”
“Starve to-morrow?” gasped George Abbot. “What do you mean, Tom?”