"Because, you old fossil, we _had_ to put those boards on," said Tom. "Where have you been, Sid? Phil and I were getting ready to move without you." "Oh, I've been cleaning out the new room we're going into. The juniors who were there last term must have tried to raise vegetables in it, judging by the amount of dirt I found. But it's all right now." "Good! Now if you'll catch hold here, we'll move the old sofa first. The rest will be easy." Sid Henderson grasped the head of the couch, while Tom took the foot. Phil acted as general manager, and steadied it on the side. "Easy now, easy boys," he cautioned, as they moved toward the door leading to the hall. CHAPTER II LANGRIDGE HAS A TUMBLE Out into the corridor went the three lads with the old sofa. It was no easy task, but they managed to get it out of the east dormitory, where they had roomed for a year, and then they began the journey across a stretch of grass to the west building. The appearance of the three boys, carrying a dilapidated sofa, as tenderly as though it were some rare and fragile object, attracted the attention of a crowd of students. The lads swarmed over to surround the movers. "Well, would you look at that!" exclaimed Holman, otherwise known as "Holly," Cross. "Have you had a fire, Tom?" "No; they've been to an auction sale of antiques, and this is the bed on which Louis XIV slept the night before he ate the Welsh rarebit," declared Ed Kerr, the champion catcher on the 'varsity nine. "Why don't you label it, Phil, so a fellow would know what it is?" "You get out of the way!" exclaimed Tom good-naturedly. "This side up, with care. Store in a cool, dry place, and water frequently," quoted Billy Housenlager, who rejoiced in the title of Dutch. "Here, let me see if I can jump over it while it is in motion," he added, for he was full of "horseplay," and always anxious to try something new. He took a running start, and was about to leap full upon the sofa, when, at a signal from Phil, the three chums set the spliced piece of furniture on the grass. "What's the matter?" asked Dutch indignantly. "Can't you give a fellow a chance to practice jumping? I can beat Grasshopper Backus, now." "You can not!" exclaimed the owner of the title. "I'm sure to make the track team this term, and then you'll see what----" "Say," put in another student, "my uncle says that when he was here he used to jump----" "Drown him!" "Stuff grass in his mouth!" "Make him eat the horsehair in the sofa!" "Swallow it!" "Chew it up!" These were some of the cries of derision that greeted Ford Fenton's mention of his uncle. The gentleman had once been a coach at Randall, and a very good one, too, but his nephew was doing much to spoil his reputation.