But we have got far from the two boys who, bags swinging――and beginning to feel extremely heavy by now――are breasting the last slope of the well-kept roadway. The old gray granite front of Whitson greets them and Arnold, followed by Toby, seeks the portal and climbs the worn stairs to the second floor. There, while Arnold unpacks his bag, Toby lodges himself on the window-seat and, hugging his knees, talks and gazes off over the tops of the trees to the sparkling waters of the Sound and feels for the moment very glad to be back there and very determined to study hard all through this new term. And presently Homer Wilkins bangs the door open and comes in dragging a big kit-bag and conversation becomes ejaculatory and somewhat noisy, and questions and answers tumble over each other. Wilkins, who shares Number 12 with Arnold, is a big, jolly looking chap of seventeen, a third class boy who should be in the second but who never has time enough to do the necessary amount of studying. Another train reaches the station and another influx of returning students comes up the hill, and Arnold and Toby and Homer squeeze their bodies half out the window and hail them. And soon after Toby takes up his bag again and climbs the last flight and finds himself once more in his little room under the slates, with the frayed armchair and the wardrobe whose doors won’t stay shut unless wedged and the old worn-out rug and――yes, a distinct odor of benzine! CHAPTER VI FRIENDS FALL OUT That afternoon at three o’clock Toby accompanied Arnold to the gymnasium where the hockey candidates were assembled in the baseball cage. The arrival of cold weather had added to the enthusiasm and many new recruits were on hand. Arnold haled Toby to Captain Crowell, saluted gravely and announced: “Sir, I have the honor to announce that in pursuance of your orders I have taken into custody and hereby deliver to you the body of one T. Tucker. Please sign the receipt!” “Hello, Arn, you crazy chump,” responded Crowell. “Much obliged, just the same. Glad to have seen you, Tucker. Hope you’ll like us and our merry pastime. Just wait around a few minutes and we’ll get things started. Say, Arn, you’re getting a good many fellows out, it seems. There’s Jim Rose. I want to see him a minute.” Crowell hurried away and Toby gazed about him. Many of those present he knew by sight, but only a very few were speaking acquaintances. Among the latter were Grover Beech, Frank Lamson, Jim Rose and Ted Halliday. There were others who had sought Toby’s services in the matter of pressing their clothes but who never seemed to recall him when they met in public. Arnold had wandered away to speak to Frank Lamson and Toby found himself embarrassingly alone until a somewhat stout youth with a pink-and-white countenance ranged alongside and remarked: “Quite a mob, isn’t it? Must be fifty, I guess. So many criminal looking countenances, too! Your name’s Tucker, isn’t it?”