“Tut! Tut! My dear Professor!” remonstrated Dr. Churchill. “Rowing is a form of exercise that develops muscles never brought to the owner’s attention in any other way. I have been reading up on the subject since the eleven has taken to the shell, and I find that the ancient Romans, in their galleys, had rowing down to a perfection rarely attained to-day. It is an ancient and honest sport, and I’m sure I hope our nine will win the regatta,” and then, good old soul, unaware that he had mixed the football and baseball squads most woefully with the crew, turned to his work on his dictionary, which to-be-famous work had progressed as far as the Cha. to Dem. volume, and bade fair to be completed in about fifty years, but Dr. Churchill did not think of that.
The chums were all tired enough this night to sleep, as Sid put it, without being rocked. They had retired early, for there was to be sharp practice the next day.
Lessons had been gone over, with as much attention as it was possible to concentrate on them, considering all that was going on, the alarm clock had been relieved of the “toothpick in its appendix,” as Tom remarked, and it was cheerfully ticking away.
“Queer about that time the clock disappeared, when someone came in our room, and you took him for me; isn’t it, Tom?” asked Sid, as he got his shaving apparatus in shape for quick use the next morning.
“It sure is. We’ve never had another visit from the unknown.”
“And I hope we don’t,” put in Phil.
“Say, did you hear the latest?” asked Frank, as he untied the string of his shoe.
“No, is there going to be another shift in the varsity boat?” asked Phil.
“No, but a lot of the fellows have been missing little things from their rooms; scarf pins and the like. And the funny part of it is that it’s all on the next floor of our dormitory. A regular epidemic, one of the fellows was telling me.”