"I'll love you, George, if only you won't put your elbow through my ribs."
"I knew Fred would meet us."
"You gif me der honor of dis," came from Hans Mueller. "I tole dem fellers to come along alretty."
"Good for you, Hansy, old boy!" cried Sam, and gave the German cadet a tight squeeze.
"Songbird, why don't you turn on the poetry pipe line and let her flow?" queried Larry Colby, who, even though an officer of one of the companies, was as jolly as the rest of the students.
"Yes, give us something by all means," said Tom. "Something about 'stilly night,' 'fond recollections,' 'starved cats,' and the like."
"Humph! 'stilly night' and 'starved cats'!" snorted Songbird Powell. "You must think I'm running a hash mill instead of——"
"By no means, Songbird, dear!" piped Tom. "We all know you're the sole owner of the largest poem factory in New York state. Let her flow by all means."
"If you don't recite, we'll sing," said Dick.
"No, don't do that—yet," pleaded Songbird. "I've got a verse or two all ready," and he began, in slow, measured tones: