"And you can just make up your mind that I won't," spoke Andy. "I'll steer clear of him from the minute I strike New Haven. But don't let's talk about it. Where's that waiter, anyhow? Has he gone out to kill a fatted calf?" "Here he comes," announced Ben. "Get a move on there, Adolph!" "Yah!" "And don't wait for my French fried potatoes to sprout, either," added Chet. "Yah, shure not!" "Oh, look who's here!" exclaimed Tom, nodding toward a newcomer. "Shoot in over here, Swipes!" he called to a tall lad, whose progress through the room was marked by friendly calls on many sides. He was a general favorite, Harry Morton by name, but seldom called anything but "Swipes," from a habit he had of taking or "swiping" signs, and other mementoes of tradesmen about town; the said signs and insignia of business later adorning his room. "Got space?" asked Harry, as he paused at the little compartment which held our friends. "Surest thing you know, Swipes. Shove over there, Frank. Are you trying to hog the whole bench?" "Not when Swipes is around," was the retort. "I'll leave that to him." "Half-ton benches are a little out of my line," laughed the newcomer, as he found room at the table. "Bring me a rarebit, Adolph, and don't leave out the cheese." "No, sir, Mr. Morton! Ho! ho! Dot's a goot vun! A rarebit mitout der cheese! Ach! Dot is goot!" and the fat German waiter went off chuckling at the old joke. "What's the matter, Andy, you look as if you'd had bad news from your best girl?" asked Harry, clapping Andy on the shoulder. "Cheer up, the worst is yet to come." "You're right there!" exclaimed Andy, heartily. "The worst _is_ yet to come. I'm going to Yale----" "Hurray! Rah! rah! That's the stuff! But talk about the worst, I can't see it. I wish I were in your rubbers." "And that dub Mortimer Gaffington is there, too," went on Andy. "That's the worst." "I don't quite get you," said Harry, in puzzled tones. "Is this Gaffington one of the bulldog profs. who eats freshmen alive?" "No, he's a fellow from our town," explained Andy, "and he and I are on the outs. We've been so for a long time. It was at a ball game some time ago. Our town team was playing and I was catching. Mort was pitching. He accused me of deliberately throwing away the game, and naturally I went back at him. We had a fight, and since then we haven't spoken. He's rich, and all that, but I don't like him; not because I beat him in a fair fight, either. Well, he went to Yale last year, and I was glad when he left town. Now I'm sorry he's at Yale, since I'm going there. I know he'll try to make it unpleasant for me." "Oh, well, make the best of it," advised Harry, philosophically. "He can't last for ever. Here comes my eats! Let's get busy." "So Mort will be a sophomore when you get to New Haven, will he?" asked Frank of Andy.