“Don’t you worry,” answered Roy, his mouth full of bread and butter, “I won’t let much get by me!” An hour later, they were sipping their after-dinner coffee and dallying with cheese and crackers. Then Chub settled a little lower in his chair with a sigh of blissful satisfaction, and gazed benevolently about him. [Illustration: They had dressed in their best clothes] “I feel better,” he murmured, “much better.” Dick took a long and careful breath. “I’m not sure,” he said cautiously, “that I feel actually better, but I’m sure I feel _different_. And I’d rather die of indigestion than starvation any day!” Roy looked speculatively at the dining-room door. “If you think we can walk that far,” he suggested, “let’s get out of here.” On the broad piazza they ran into a group of college friends of Roy and Chub’s, and the rest of the evening was hilarious enough. By ten o’clock, at which time they went back to the _Slow Poke_, they had enlarged their circle of acquaintances until it included most of the young folks at the hotel. The next morning they had breakfast aboard, but didn’t linger long over it, for all sorts of delightful things had been arranged. In the first place, there was tennis on the smooth clay courts, Roy and Chub engaging in doubles with a pair of ambitious friends who rather prided themselves on their prowess with racket and ball. After four sets, Roy and Chub had induced a certain amount of modesty in their opponents, having won three out of the four. Dick, meanwhile, went down in defeat before a curly-haired sub-freshman. They had luncheon at the hotel and went sailing afterward in some one’s sloop. (It was at no time apparent whose boat it was, for out of the sixteen fellows who had crowded aboard, only one hesitated to give orders, and that one only because he became seasick as soon as the yacht left her moorings.) There was more tennis after the cruise was completed, in which Dick found a foe he could triumph over. Then they went back to the neglected _Slow Poke_ and “brushed up” for dinner. “This social life is truly exciting,” observed Chub, strolling into the forward cabin with a whisk broom in his hand. “Has anyone a nice red tie to lend me?” No one had, it seemed. Dick ventured the opinion that a red tie was not a proper adjunct to a dinner costume, and that precipitated a discussion that lasted until they were ready to climb the hill to the hotel, Chub asserting that with a blue serge suit nothing was more chaste and recherché than a nice bright red scarf.