“Yo’ ’s foolin’ me,” he said, with a grin. “De boss is done gone fo’ de day. Said he wouldn’t be back till to-morrer mawnin’.”
“That explains your condition,” said Hackett. “Go bring those drinks and clean up here, you tippling dog.”
“Don’t yo’ be so pussunal, sar!” objected Tom, swaying a bit and looking offended. “I nebber done yo’ no injury ner nuffin’. I’s sho’ sorry I spilled de drinks. I’ll have them teh pay fo’, ’sides payin’ fo’ the glasses I smashed. But I don’ like teh be called nuffin’ disgraceful. I allus tries teh treat averybody right, an’ it ain’t——”
“Oh, cut it out!” interrupted one of the collegians. “You’re all right, Tom, when you are all right. Better bring that beer in steins after this. They won’t break so easy.”
Tom departed, stepping gingerly and lifting his feet very high. In a short time he returned with the drinks. Then he hastened to wipe up and sweep up the pieces of broken glass.
The boys began to sing, “When Good Fellows Get Together.” They seemed to be feeling very well indeed. Merriwell and Hodge joined in, apparently feeling quite as well as any of them.
In the midst of the singing Fillmore found a chance to whisper in Hackett’s ear:
“Merriwell is pretty well loaded now. Look at him. I don’t believe he can stand much, and he’s drinking gin as if it were water.”
“Oh, we’ll have him finished pretty soon,” answered Hackett. “I want to soak Hodge just as much, but I think he can stand more than Merriwell.”
A man appeared and informed them that they could not sit on the veranda and sing in that manner.