School work had ended early this day on account of coming examinations, and the lads, who had been chums since their entrance at Milton, had voted to go for a walk, and end up with an early supper at Kelly’s, a more or less celebrated place where the students congregated. This was at Churchtown, about five miles from Warrenville. The boys were to walk there and come back in the trolley.
They had spent two years at the Milton school, and had been friends for years before that, all of them living in the town of Dunmore, in one of our Middle States. There was much rejoicing among them when they found that all five who had played baseball and football together in Dunmore, were to go to the same preparatory school. It meant that the pleasant relations were not to be severed. But now the shadow of parting had cast itself upon them, and had tempered their buoyant spirits.
“Yes, boys, it will soon be good-bye to old Milton!” exclaimed Chet, with a sigh.
“I wonder if we’ll get anybody like Dr. Morrison at any of the colleges we go to?” spoke Ben.
“You can’t beat him—no matter where you go!” declared Andy. “He’s the best ever!”
“That’s right! He knows just how to take a fellow,” commented Tom. “Remember the time I smuggled the puppy into the physiology class?”
“I should say we did!” laughed Andy.
“And how he yelped when I pinched his tail that stuck out from under your coat,” added Ben. “Say, it was great!”
“I’ll never forget how old Pop Swann looked up over the tops of his glasses,” put in Frank.
“Dr. Morrison was mighty decent about it when he had me up on the carpet, too,” added Tom. “I thought sure I was in for a wigging—maybe a suspension, and I couldn’t stand that, for dad had written me one warning letter.