“That’ll make three, then. Now, of course, I know lots of fellows who would come in if I asked ’em, but, as I just said, this thing is going to be select; it’s going to be the selectest table in town. So you tell me who are the top of the bunch in our class, and I’ll go and fetch ’em in if I have to rope ’em and hog-tie ’em.” Pete took out a pencil and began to write on the back of an envelope. “Of course, it’s all poppycock,” said Allan, “but--well, there’s What’s-his-name, the class president, and Maitland, and Poor----” “Whoo-ee! I’m glad you thought of Poor.” “And Armstrong--only he lives at home, I think--and Mays, and Wolcott, and--and Cooper--Cooper of St. Eustace, I mean; the other chap’s an awful duffer--and Van Sciver----” “Whoa, Bill! That’s eight--eleven, counting us three; guess I can get enough out of the list. Besides, I must ask Greb; mustn’t slight Greb.” “You’re not going to ask him?” “Ain’t I? Just you keep your eyes peeled and you’ll see.” He got up and carefully put the list in the big yellow leather wallet he carried. “Guess I’ll see a few of ’em this afternoon. Want to come along?” Allan shook his head vigorously. “Not me, Pete. I don’t want to have to testify against you before the faculty. How do I know what you’ll do to those chaps to make them join?” “Oh, say, Allan!” Pete turned at the gate. “Remember those ducks we saw on the river last week? Well, let’s go after ’em Thursday morning, will you?” “Shooting, you mean? I haven’t a gun.” “You take my shot-gun and I’ll use the rifle. I’ve shot ducks with a rifle before this.” “All right, Pete, but like as not the silly ducks won’t be there Thursday.” “Well, we’ll find something to shoot, all right, if it’s just squirrels. We’ll have nothing to do Thursday, and can stay as long as we like; make a day of it. Maybe we can find some place to have dinner and won’t have to come back here. I’m getting mighty tired of commons, Allan. Well, it’ll be considerable different when we get the table started, won’t it?” “I suppose so,” answered Allan. “Say, do you think Hal or Tommy would go along?” “Ducking? Tommy might, but Hal’s going to sign off and go home over Saturday.” “Lucky chap!” sighed Pete. “Wish I was.” He looked thoughtfully across the leaf-strewn college yard. “Suppose I could, but--guess the old man would raise Cain. Allan!” “Yep?” “I’d give a hundred dollars for sight of a mountain. Well, I must jog along.” CHAPTER IX THE DUCK HUNT Thanksgiving Day dawned cloudy and still, with a hint of snow in the air. Allan slept late, in enjoyment of holiday privileges, and Pete was banging at his front window before he had finished dressing.