"How the girls will fall in love with you when they hear of this," sighed Spud.
"This way, your Excellency!" cried Tom, and led poor, bewildered Tubbs to the carriage.
"Thomas, my dear fellow, what—er—what does it mean?" gasped the dudish student, his eyes opening wider and wider.
"Oh, you can't fool us, Tubblets," whispered the fun-loving Rover. "You were going to keep it a secret, but we read all about it in the London paper one of the fellows sent over."
"Read about—ah—what, please?"
"Why, how the king and queen knighted you, and all that, Philliam Whilander."
"William Philander, please, Thomas. But—er—this is a mistake——"
"No, no, Tubby, my boy, no mistake at all, I assure you. This is in your honor solely. The college faculty did it—they couldn't do less, to one so decorated, or knighted,—which is it, please? It's the grandest thing that ever happened to Brill."
"But don't you know, I—er—I haven't been—er—knighted, or anything else. I wasn't in England, I went to Paris, and——"
"Now, now, my dear boy, don't try that game," said Tom, reproachfully. "We all know perfectly well that you were knighted and that you are now Sir Tubbs, P. X. C., and all that. We salute you!" And then Tom took off his hat. "Three cheers for Sir Tubbs!" he called loudly.