“You sure did,” replied Dick.  “I was afraid I was going to have a stranger for a roommate.  Your coming here suits me to a T!”

“I didn’t write to you because I wanted to surprise you,” explained Songbird.  “I’ve composed some verses about it.  They start—­”

“Never mind the verses now,” interrupted Tom.  “Come on in and we’ll introduce you to the fellows, and then we’ll listen to your story.  And we’ll tell you some things that will surprise you.”

“And I’ll tell you some things that will surprise you, too,” returned John Powell, as he was led away by the three Rover boys.

CHAPTER VII

THE ARRIVAL OF SONGBIRD

“So you’ve made some enemies as well as some friends, eh?” remarked Songbird Powell, after he had been registered, taken up to his room, and had listened to what the Rover boys had to tell.  “No use of talking, it doesn’t take you fellows long to stir things up!”

“You said you had a surprise for us, Songbird,” returned Tom.  “I’m dying by inches to know what it is.”

“Maybe it’s a new poem,” put in Sam with a grimace at his brothers.

“I’ve got a poem—­several of them, in fact,” answered Songbird, “but I didn’t have those in mind when I spoke.  Who do you suppose I met yesterday morning, in Ithaca, while I was waiting for the train?”

“Dora Stanhope and the Lanings,” answered Tom promptly.

“No.  Tad Sobber.”

“Tad Sobber!” exclaimed the Rover boys in concert.

“Songbird, are you sure of it?” demanded Dick.

“Sure?  Wasn’t I talking to him!”

“But—­but—­I thought he was lost in that hurricane, when the Josephine was wrecked.”

“No.  It seems he escaped to a vessel bound for England; but his uncle, Sid Merrick, was lost, and so were most of the others.  Sobber just got back from England—­came in on one of the ocean liners, so he told me.”

“How did he act?” asked Tom.

“Where was he going?” added Sam.

“Did he seem to have any money?” came from Dick.

All of the Rovers were intensely interested, and showed it plainly.

“Say, one question at a time, please!” cried Songbird, “You put me in mind of a song I once wrote about a little boy: 

  “’A little lad named Johnny Spark
  Was nothing but a question mark. 
  He asked his questions night and day,
  When he was resting or at play. 
  One minute he would tackle pa,
  And then he’d turn and tackle ma;
  And then his uncle he would quiz—­”

  “And let that line please end the biz,”

finished Tom.  “Say, Songbird, please don’t quote poetry when we are waiting to hear all about Tad Sobber.  Have some pity on us.”

“Yes, tell us of Sobber,” added Sam and Dick.

“All right, if you don’t appreciate my verses,” returned the would-be poet with a sigh.  “Well, to start with, Tad Sobber was well dressed, and looked as if he had all the money he needed.  He wore a brown checkered suit, so evidently he hasn’t gone into mourning for his uncle.  He told me he had had a rough experience on the ocean during the hurricane, and he blames you Rovers for all his troubles.”