“Hello, Bruce!  Bruce Bennington,” yelled Tom.

“Hello Tom!  Didn’t expect to see me back; did you?” and a tall, well-browned lad, somewhat older than the others, leaped from the still-moving train, and grasped our hero’s hand.

The other remarks, preceding Thorn’s, had come so fast and in such confusion that it is impossible to declare who said which or what.  Then, when Tom had greeted Bruce, the Senior who owed so much to him—­a Senior who had returned for a post-graduate course—­our hero spied some others of his chums on the train.

“Jack!  Jack Fitch!” he yelled.  “Hello, Bert—­Bert Wilson!  I’ve been waiting for you!”

“There he is!  There’s Tom!” yelled Jack, hauling in the head of his chum Bert from one window, only to poke his own cranium out of another.  “Hurray!”

There was a rush of many feet, a tossing about of valises and suit cases, the hoarse cries of hack drivers and expressmen, and, above all, the greetings of the students, the smack of meeting palms and the pistol-like reports of clappings on backs and shoulders.

“Three cheers for Elmwood Hall!” cried someone.  They were given, and a “Tiger” was called for, followed by the school yell.

“Say, Tom,” began Jack Fitch, when he could get his breath.  “What about a room?  Let’s slip off and get one before this mob takes ’em all.”

“Go easy, son; go easy,” advised Tom calmly.  “All is provided for.  Just tell the man to send your luggage to Hollywood Hall, and all will be well.  Same to you, Bert.  I’ve got a swell apartment for us three, near where Morse hangs out.”

“Good for you!” cried Bert.

“Trust Tom to look out for the sleeps and eats,” laughed Jack.  “Oh, but it’s good to be back!”

“Just what I said,” declared Tom.  “There’s lots of good times in prospect.”

Together the four chums, followed by others of their acquaintance, moved toward the Sophomore dormitory.  The five o’clock train had brought in many students, all of whom were in a hurry to pick out their rooms.

“Say, this is a swell place all right,” declared Bert, a little later, when Tom had ushered his two chums into the cozy apartment he had reserved.

“All to the plush furniture,” added Jack.  “You’re all right, Tom.  How is it for getting in after hours?”

“Fine.  It’s right near a rear stairway.  Oh, I saw to that all right.  And the monitor is Old Balmy—­we can work him easy.”

“Fine!” cried Bert.  “Now let’s get things straightened out, and unpack some of our duds,” for their baggage had arrived ere they had done admiring their new quarters.

“We’re Sophs now—­don’t forget that,” advised Tom.  “No more Freshmen!”

“And we can do some hazing on our own account,” added Jack.  “Oh, glorious!”

There came a knock on the door.

“Come!” invited Tom.

The portal swung open to admit the form and features of little George Abbot.