At the city of Ithaca the boys stopped long enough to get dinner, and were here joined by Fred Garrison and George Granbury, two more of their old school chums.
"Hurrah for the gathering of the clans!" cried George Granbury, with a beaming face. "This is like a touch of old times. How are all of you, anyway?"
"First rate, with the exception of Hans here," said Tom. "He's got the buckwheat measles."
"Yah, und Tom he's got der jipperjocker fefer," declared the German boy, bound to do his best to get square.
"Good for Hans!" cried Sam. "Tom, after this, you have got to take care, or Hansie will roast you."
"Oh, Hans is just all right," observed Tom, and when the German boy's face was turned away he took the latter's coffee and put into it about a teaspoonful of salt. "Tell you what, fellows, this coffee just touches the spot," he added loudly.
"Right you are," said Fred Garrison. "Never tasted better in my life."
So far Hans had not touched the coffee, but hearing the words he took up his cup and downed a deep draught. It may be added that he was a German who loved coffee a good deal, and frequently drank several cups at a meal.
For an instant the German youth said nothing. Then his face turned pale.
"Dat coffee was no goot!" he gasped.