"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."