Joel descried Outfield West at once, and pushed his way to him through
the throng just as the train came into sight down the track. West was
surrounded on the narrow baggage truck by some half dozen of the choice
spirits from Hampton House, and Joel's advent was made the occasion for
much sport.

"Ah, he comes! The Professor comes!" shouted West.

"He tears himself from his studies and joins us in our frivolity,"
declaimed Cooke.

"That's something you'll never have a chance of doing, Tom," answered
Cartwright, as Joel was hauled on to the truck. "You'll never get near
enough to a study to have to be torn away."

"Study, my respected young friend," answered Cooke gravely, "is the
bane of the present unenlightened age. In the good old days when
everybody was either a Greek or a Roman or a barbarian, and so didn't
have to study languages, and--"

"Shut up! here's the train," cried West. "Now every fellow cheer, or
he'll have me to fight."

"Hooray! hooray! hooray!" yelled Cooke.

"Somebody punch him, please," begged West, and Somers and another
obliging youth thrust the offender off the truck and sat on his head.
The train slowed down, stopped, and a porter appeared laden with a huge
valise. This was the signal for a rush, and the darkey was instantly
relieved of his burden and hustled back grinning to the platform.