the softest, not only of the Dozen, but of the whole Academy. Sleepy
had been too lazy to pay much heed when the diplomatic History had
suggested their choosing room No. 13 for theirs, and he assented
languidly. History had said that it was the brightest and sunniest
room in the building, and if there was one thing that Sleepy loved
almost better than baseball, it was a good snooze in the sun after he
had worked hard stowing away any of the three meals. His heart was
broken, however, when he learned that the room chosen by the wily
History was on the top floor, with three long flights to climb. After
that you could never convince him that thirteen was not an unlucky
number.

The Lakerimmers had thus managed quietly to ensconce themselves, all
except Sawed-Off, in one building; and it was just as well, perhaps,
that they did so establish themselves in a stronghold of their own,
for they clung together so steadfastly that there was soon a deal of
jealousy among the other students toward them, and all the factions
combined together to try to keep the Lakerimmers from cabbaging any of
the good things of academy life.

There was a craze of skylarking the first few weeks after the school
opened. Almost every day one of the Lakerimmers would come back from
his classes to find his room "stacked"--a word that exactly expresses
its meaning. There is something particularly discouraging in going to
your room late in the evening, your mind made up to a comfortable hour
of reading on a divan covered with cushions made by your best girls,
only to find the divan placed in the middle of the bed, with a bureau
and a bookcase stuck on top of it, a few chairs and a pet bulldog tied
in the middle of the mix-up, and a mirror and a well-filled bowl of
water so fixed on the top of the heap that it is well-nigh impossible