“I’m in that. You’d better keep out. It’s an awful roast. They work you to death.”
“You mean you are in the Third Class this year?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“That’s what I thought you said, but I wondered how you knew so much about it if you were just starting.”
“I know what fellows say,” answered Tubby crossly. “You’d better go in for the Fourth.”
“Maybe I’ll have to,” responded Dan cheerfully. “I’ll tell you more about it this time to-morrow.”
“Huh! You’re one of those smarties who think they know it all, aren’t you?”
“I hope not. If you’re going to supper I wish you’d show me the way, if you don’t mind.”
“All right. Come along. You won’t get much to eat, though, I can tell you that. They simply try to starve you here. Wish I’d gone to Broadwood, like I was going to.”
But Dan found that Tubby’s croakings about the supper were misleading. The food was very good and there was no evident attempt on the part of the waiters to force anyone to leave the table hungry. The dining hall, or commons as it was called, occupied most of the first floor of Whitson Hall, the unlovely granite structure which Dan had passed on his way to his room. There were thirty tables, holding from eight to ten boys each. Some of the tables were presided over by instructors, while in one corner of the hall a small table was occupied by Dr. Hewitt, the Principal; Mrs. Ponder, the Matron; Mr. Collins, the Assistant Principal, and the Secretary, Mr. Forisher.