for breakfast. Tom was also up, and said he would take a walk around
the grounds to raise an appetite.

"As if you needed anything of that sort," grinned Sam. "The first
thing you know, you'll be eating so much that the college management
will be charging you double for board."

Down on the campus, Tom ran into Songbird. and, a few minutes later,
William Philander Tubbs. Songbird, as usual, had a pad and pencil in
his hand.

"Composing verses, I suppose," remarked Tom. "What have you got now?"

"Oh, it isn't so very much," returned Songbird, hesitatingly. "It's a
little poem I was writing about dogs."

"Dogs!" chimed in William Philander. "My gracious me! What sort of
poetry can you get up about dogs? I must confess, I don't like them.
Unless, of course, they are the nice little lap-dog kind."

"This isn't about a lap-dog, exactly," returned Songbird. "It's about
a watchdog."

"Um! By the way, Songbird, haven't the Sandersons a new watchdog?"

"Yes." And now Songbird reddened a little.

"Well, let us have the poem, anyway. I love dogs, and some poetry
about them ought to run along pretty good."