“Say, fellows, isn’t it pretty near time we organized a little fishing party up to the lake?” asked Fitzgerald. Trout fishing was one of his pet hobbies. “Any trout there?” inquired Fair quickly. “Thousands of ’em,” returned Fitz. “Will they bite easily?” asked Lance. “Will they?” exclaimed the slim chap. “Well, I should say they would! Why, they’re absolutely vicious. A man has to hide behind a tree to bait his hook.” “It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Dick remarked. “We haven’t gone on a trip like that this fall. Say, Samp, why don’t you take a comfortable chair? You’ve been holding down that piano stool all evening, and you know you can’t play a note.” The Hoosier winked significantly and cast a meaning glance at Fitzgerald, one of whose many accomplishments was the singing of popular ditties to improvised accompaniments consisting of a more or less skillful variation of two chords. “I know that,” Elwell returned composedly, “but neither can any one else while I’m here.” Fitz instantly took up the gantlet. “Talk about hogs!” he exclaimed, springing from his seat on the table. “And here I am fairly bursting with a perfectly punk song I just learned this afternoon. Avaunt, creature!” He made a dive at Elwell, and, before the stalwart Hoosier realized what was happening, the piano stool was deftly upset and he sprawled on the floor. By the time he had scrambled to his feet, the slim chap was seated calmly at the keyboard and had struck an opening chord. “Come into the garden, Maud,” he began dramatically. He got no farther. A united yell of protest arose which effectually drowned him out. “Oh, what a chestnut!” “Noah sang that to the animals in the ark!” “Give us something that’s not more than two thousand years old!” Fitz turned slowly around, a look of pained surprise on his freckled face. “Peace, prithee—peace!” he chided. “I assure you that the song is quite new, save the first line, which may be a little reminiscent. Kindly refrain from any more rude, vulgar interruptions.” Before the others could recover their breath he struck the chords and began to sing again, this time rather hurriedly: “Come into the garden, Maud”; But Maud was much too wise. ‘Oh, no,’ said she, ‘the corn has ears And the potatoes eyes.’ His voice, dwelling lingeringly and fondly on the last note, was drowned in a shout of laughter. “Great!” choked Buckhart. “Maud was a wise child, all right.” “Give us another verse, old fellow,” chuckled Elwell. “I’m afraid I’m not in very good voice to-night,” simpered Fitz, looking coyly down at the keys. “Such a critical audience always makes me so nervous. However——” He lifted his voice again in the same serious chant. “The rain it falls upon the just, And also on the unjust fellers; But chiefly on the just, because The unjust have the justs’ umbrellers.”