He made a scramble to gather up the waiter and some of the partly smashed glasses. Suddenly he stopped. “Yo’ ’s foolin’ me,” he said, with a grin. “De boss is done gone fo’ de day. Said he wouldn’t be back till to-morrer mawnin’.” “That explains your condition,” said Hackett. “Go bring those drinks and clean up here, you tippling dog.” “Don’t yo’ be so pussunal, sar!” objected Tom, swaying a bit and looking offended. “I nebber done yo’ no injury ner nuffin’. I’s sho’ sorry I spilled de drinks. I’ll have them teh pay fo’, ’sides payin’ fo’ the glasses I smashed. But I don’ like teh be called nuffin’ disgraceful. I allus tries teh treat averybody right, an’ it ain’t——” “Oh, cut it out!” interrupted one of the collegians. “You’re all right, Tom, when you are all right. Better bring that beer in steins after this. They won’t break so easy.” Tom departed, stepping gingerly and lifting his feet very high. In a short time he returned with the drinks. Then he hastened to wipe up and sweep up the pieces of broken glass. The boys began to sing, “When Good Fellows Get Together.” They seemed to be feeling very well indeed. Merriwell and Hodge joined in, apparently feeling quite as well as any of them. In the midst of the singing Fillmore found a chance to whisper in Hackett’s ear: “Merriwell is pretty well loaded now. Look at him. I don’t believe he can stand much, and he’s drinking gin as if it were water.” “Oh, we’ll have him finished pretty soon,” answered Hackett. “I want to soak Hodge just as much, but I think he can stand more than Merriwell.” A man appeared and informed them that they could not sit on the veranda and sing in that manner. “What are you tryin’ to do?” he growled. “Want to queer the place? There’s people goin’ by on the road. Come inside, all of yer.” “We resent that language, Morrisy!” exclaimed Fillmore haughtily, as he rose. “Speak to us in the proper manner to address gentlemen.” “That’s right!” said Frank, also rising, and seeming a bit unsteady. “That’s no way to talk.” “Oh, don’t all you chaps go to gettin’ on your high horses!” cried Morrisy. “You know me, an’ I know you. If I’ve said anything you don’t like, I apolergize; but you’ll have to caper inside if you want any more drinks.” “Do you positively refuse to serve anything more out here?” asked Fillmore. “Sure thing.” “Then, as you have apologized, we’ll come in. Come on, fellows.” They all filed in and found seats round some tables in a cool and airy room. As another round of drinks was being served a man with huge shoulders and a thick neck came sauntering into the room, his derby hat cocked over one eye and a cigar canted upward in one corner of his mouth. “Here’s Husker!” was the cry. “Hello, Galway, old slugger! Come have a drink with us!” The newcomer paused and surveyed the party critically. “Well, now, you’re a hot bunch, ain’t yer!” he said. “You’re certainly goin’ it some. Tryin’ ter drownd yerselves wid beer, hey?”