“Look who’s here!” burst out Tom as he hurried forward.

“Why, it’s Tubbs—­William Philander Tubbs!” ejaculated Sam.

And sure enough, it was Tubbs, the most dudish pupil Putnam Hall had ever known, and one with whom the cadets had had no end of fun.

“My dear old Buttertub, how are you?” called out Tom loudly, and caught the new arrival by the shoulder.  “How are you, and how is the wife, and the eight children?”

“Why—­ah—­is it really Tom Rover!” gasped Tubbs.  He stared at Tom and then at Dick and Sam.  “What are you—­ah—­doing here, may I inquire?  But please,” he added hurriedly, “don’t call me Buttertub, and don’t say I have a wife and children, when I haven’t.”  And Tubbs looked around to see if anybody had overheard Tom’s remark.

“We go to school here,” said Dick as he shook hands.  “Brill College.”

“Well, I never!” gasped the tall dude.  “Brill, did you say?”

“That’s it,” put in Sam.

“I am going there myself.”

“You!” roared Tom.  “Hail Columbia, happy land!  That’s the best yet, Tubblets.  We’ll have dead loads of fun.  Did you bring your pet poodle and your fancywork, and those beautiful red and yellow socks you used to wear?”

“I hope you didn’t forget that green and pink necktie you used to have,” came from Sam, “and the blue handkerchief with the purple variegated border.”

“I—­ah—­I never had those things,” stormed Tubbs.  “Oh, say, do you really go to Brill?” he questioned, with almost a groan in his voice.

“Sure as you’re born,” answered Dick.  “We’ll be glad to have you there, William Philander.  You’ll be a credit to the institution.  We have a few fellows who dress well, but you’ll top them all.  I know it.”

“Do you—­ah—­really think I can—­ah—­I will be as well dressed as the—­ah—­as anybody?” asked the dude eagerly.  He was a fair scholar, but his mind was constantly on the subject of what to wear and how to wear it.

“Oh, you’ll lead the bunch, and all the girls at Hope will fall dead in love with you,” answered Tom.

“Hope?  What do you mean?”

“That’s the seminary for girls.  Fine lot of girls there, waiting to see you, Philliam Willander.”

“William Philander, please.  So there is a girls’ school here, eh?  That’s—­ah—­very nice.  Yes, I like the girls—­I always did.  But, Tom, please don’t call me—­ah—­Buttertub.  I think it’s horrid, don’t you know.”

“All right, Washtub, anything you say stands still,” answered Tom cheerfully.  “I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for a million warts.”

“There is the carriage for Brill,” said Sam, pointing it out.

“Are you going with me?” asked the dude.

“No.  We are not going back until this evening,” explained Dick.  “We’ll see you later.”

“Only one other student going with you,” added Tom mischievously.  “He’s kind of queer, but I guess he won’t hurt you.”  He had seen an innocent, quiet youth, named Smith, getting into the college turnout.