"Say, Spud, when you get down to the Maine coast, don't eat too many
lobsters."

"And that puts me in mind, Stanley. When you reach the Grand Canyon,
send me a piece of rock; I want to see how the Canyon looks."

"Say, whose baseball mitt is this anyway?" And following this
question, the mitt came sailing through the air, to land on the floor
of the Brill carryall.

"Please get off of my feet!" The wail came from William Philander
Tubbs, who was sitting in a corner with another student partly on his
lap.

"Everybody shove, and we'll be off!" cried another student, merrily.

Then came a great mixture of cries and whistles, intermingled with the
tooting of horns and the sounding of rattles, in the midst of which
there moved from the Brill grounds several carriages and an equal
number of automobiles.

The term had come to an end, and the students were preparing to
scatter. The majority were going home, but others had planned to go
directly to the summer resorts where they were to spend their
vacations.

"Good-bye, Brill!" sang out Tom, and, for once, his voice was a trifle
husky. Now that he was leaving the college not to return, a sudden
queer sensation stole over the youth. He looked at his brother, and
then turned his gaze away.