"Hi! Hi! What—er—did—er—you do that for?" he spluttered, as he sat on the floor, completely dazed. "Say! why didn't you tell me you were going to get up?" and then he started to wipe the grape juice from his eyes and nose.
"Hello! Salad's going down!" cried one student gaily.
"Say, Tubbs, there is no use of throwing such nice food as that away even if you don't want it," chimed in another.
"Don't you know enough to stand up when a toast is to be drunk?" queried a third.
"I—I—didn't quite understand," stammered William Philander, and then with an effort he extracted himself from the mess on his lap and slowly arose to his feet. "My gracious! I believe I have utterly ruined this vest and trousers!" he added mournfully, as he gazed down at the light gray suit he wore.
"Oh, a little gasoline will fix that up all right," said Spud. "Don't let a little thing like that interfere with your pleasure, Tubbs. Come on—here's another glass of grape juice. No use of crying over spilt milk—I mean juice," corrected the youth.
"Tom Rover! Everybody up!" came the call, and then amid a subdued murmuring of good luck the boys stood around Tom and drank his health.
"Thank you, fellows, very much," answered Tom, and there was just a suspicion of huskiness in his voice.
"Speech! Speech! Give us a speech!" came from several.
"Speech? Great guns! I never made a speech in my life," announced Tom, and now for the first time he looked a bit confused.