"Very well, Mr. W. P. Washbasin—I mean Tubbs. I'll not forget again," and Tom made a low bow.
"And I don't want you to knock my books out of my arm again," went on William Philander, drawing himself up disdainfully.
"Your books, Willie?"
"Yes, my books," came wrathfully from the dudish student "And don't you dare to call me Willie. My name is——"
"Oh, yes, I remember now, Philugger."
"It's not Philugger, either. It is Wil——"
"Sure, I know, Philliam Tubbander Williams. Sorry I forgot before." And Tom looked truly sorrowful.
"Oh, you are simply horrid, that's what you are!" declared the stylishly-dressed student, in despair. "And my books are all covered with dirt!"
"I beg a million pardons," cried Tom, and started to pick the books up, one after another. As he did this one hand went again into that pocket before mentioned and, on the sly, he inserted a printed sheet of paper into each book. "Now you are all fixed, Tubbly," he added. "And you can run along to school like a nice little boy. But wait a moment till I fix your collar," he went on, as he turned the other youth around.
"What's the matter with my collar?" demanded the dudish student, suspiciously.