here until the five o'clock train, now," declared Morse. "You've got time enough to go to town and be back again. Come ahead."

"All right," assented Tom. "Wait until I get the porter to fetch my trunk from the station."

The check having been given to the porter, Tom and his chum strolled toward the trolley line that would take them into the small city of Elmwood.

"Here comes the human interrogation point!" exclaimed Morse, when they were almost at the trolley line.

"I thought he wasn't coming back to school," remarked Tom, looking around.

"He did say he wasn't, but I guess his folks made him. He wanted to branch out for himself and be a lawyer, I believe. He sure would be great on cross-examining witnesses with the way he asks questions," finished Morse with a laugh.

A small lad was approaching the two friends on the run, and, as he neared them, he called out:

"Hello, Morse! Say, Tom Fairfield, when did you get in? Did you have
a good time? I hear you went camping and discovered a hidden treasure.
Did it amount to much? How much did you get? Where's Jack and Bert?
Are you going in for football? Where are you rooming?"

Tom and Morse came to a stop. They eyed each other solemnly. Then Tom said gravely:

"Isn't it a shame; and he's so young, too!"

"Yes," assented Morse with a mournful shake of his head. "I understand that his case is hopeless. They are going to provide a keeper for him."

"Say, look here, you fellows!" exclaimed the small lad. "What's eating you, anyhow? What do you mean by that line of talk?"

"Oh, he heard us!" gasped Tom, in pretended confusion. "I didn't think he had any rational moments. But he has. There, Georgie," he went on soothingly. "Go lie down in the shade, and you'll be all right in a little while. Do you suffer much?"

"Say, what's the joke?" demanded George Abbot, the small lad referred to. "Can't I ask you a question, without being insulted and called crazy?"

"Sure you can, Why," replied Tom, giving the lad the nick-name bestowed on him because of his many interrogations. "Of course you can ask one question, or even two, but you can't fire broadsides at us in that fashion. Remember that we have weak hearts."

"And our constitutions are not strong," added Morse.

"Oh, you be hanged!" murmured George. "If you can't—"

"Oh, come along!" invited Tom, catching him by the arm. "We're going to town. It's Morse's treat. Yes, George, I did have a bang-up time on my vacation. I'll tell you all about it later."

The three were soon on a trolley car and, a little later, they had reached the town, heading for a drug store where ice cream sodas were a specialty.

"It goes to the right spot!" exclaimed Tom gratefully, as he finished what was set before him. "What do you say to a moving picture show? It will pass the time until the last train gets in. Then for some fun to-night, if Jack and Bert show up."

The others were willing, and soon, in company with some other Elmwood Hall students whom they met, the boys went to the place of the moving pictures.

"Well, it's almost time for the choo-choo cars to sand-paper in," remarked Tom a little later, looking at his watch as he and Morse paced the depot platform.

"Yes, there she blows," remarked his companion, as a distant whistle sounded.

"There they are!"

"There's Tom!"

"Hello, you old skate!"

"You got here ahead of us!"

"And there's Morse Denton!"

"'Rah for Elmwood Hall!"

"I see Joe Rooney."

"Yes, and there's Lew Bentfield."

"Hello, Bruce! Bruce Bennington," yelled Tom.

"Hello Tom! Didn't expect to see me back; did you?" and a tall, well-browned lad, somewhat older than the others, leaped from the still-moving train, and grasped our hero's hand.

The other remarks, preceding Thorn's, had come so fast and in such confusion that it is impossible to declare who said which or what. Then, when Tom had greeted Bruce, the Senior who owed so much to him—a Senior who had returned for a post-graduate course—our hero spied some others of his chums on the train.

"Jack! Jack Fitch!" he yelled. "Hello, Bert—Bert Wilson! I've been waiting for you!"

"There he is! There's Tom!" yelled Jack, hauling in the head of his chum Bert from one window, only to poke his own cranium out of another. "Hurray!"

There was a rush of many feet, a tossing about of valises and suit cases, the hoarse cries of hack drivers and expressmen, and, above all, the greetings of the students, the smack of meeting palms and the pistol-like reports of clappings on backs and shoulders.

"Three cheers for Elmwood Hall!" cried someone. They were given, and a
"Tiger" was called for, followed by the school yell.

"Say, Tom," began Jack Fitch, when he could get his breath. "What about a room? Let's slip off and get one before this mob takes 'em all."

"Go easy, son; go easy," advised Tom calmly. "All is provided for. Just tell the man to send your luggage to Hollywood Hall, and all will be well. Same to you, Bert. I've got a swell apartment for us three, near where Morse hangs out."

"Good for you!" cried Bert.

"Trust Tom to look out for the sleeps and eats," laughed Jack. "Oh, but it's good to be back!"

"Just what I said," declared Tom. "There's lots of good times in prospect."

Together the four chums, followed by others of their acquaintance, moved toward the Sophomore dormitory. The five o'clock train had brought in many students, all of whom were in a hurry to pick out their rooms.

"Say, this is a swell place all right," declared Bert, a little later, when Tom had ushered his two chums into the cozy apartment he had reserved.

"All to the plush furniture," added Jack. "You're all right, Tom. How is it for getting in after hours?"

"Fine. It's right near a rear stairway. Oh, I saw to that all right.
And the monitor is Old Balmy—we can work him easy."

"Fine!" cried Bert. "Now let's get things straightened out, and unpack some of our duds," for their baggage had arrived ere they had done admiring their new quarters.

"We're Sophs now—don't forget that," advised Tom. "No more Freshmen!"

"And we can do some hazing on our own account," added Jack. "Oh, glorious!"

There came a knock on the door.

"Come!" invited Tom.

The portal swung open to admit the form and features of little George
Abbot.

"Are you all here? When did you and Bert come? Is there any——"

"Stop!" thundered Tom, catching up a heavy baseball glove. "Halt in your tracks, or it will be the worse for you! One more question, and—"

"You wait until you hear this one," said George calmly. "Maybe you don't want to, though," he added mysteriously.

"What is it?" asked Jack, struck by something in the manner of the human question box, and Tom lowered the glove.

"I was going to ask if you'd heard the news," went on George. "But if you don't want to——"

"Go ahead, Why," invited Bert. "I'll listen, anyhow. What's the news?"

"Sam Heller and