"Fred Garrison, by all that's lucky!" burst out Tom suddenly, as
he rushed up to a youth of about his own age who sat on a trunk
eating an apple.

"Tom Rover! Where are you bound?"

"To a boarding school called Putnam Hall."

"You don't say! Why, I am going there myself," and now Fred
Garrison nearly wrung off Tom's hand.

"If this isn't the most glorious news yet!" burst in Dick. "Why,
Larry Colby is going too!"

"I know it. But he won't come until tomorrow."

"And Frank Harrington is going too."

"He is there, already --he wrote about it day before yesterday.
That makes six of us New York, boys."

"The metropolitan sextet," chirped in Sam.

"Boys, we ought to form a league to stand by each other through
thick or thin."

"I'm with you on that," answered Fred. "As we are all newcomers,
it's likely the old scholars will want to haze us, or, something
like that."