“That’s enough, Sam; don’t give me any of it now.  Time enough for that when we have to get at it.  There goes the supper bell.  Now, downstairs with you! and let us get through as soon as possible and be on our way.”

“All right, just as you say!” and gathering up a number of sheets of paper, Sam thrust them in the drawer of the writing-table.

“By the way, it’s queer we didn’t get any letter to-day from Dick,” the youngest Rover observed.

At the mention of their brother’s name, Tom’s face clouded a little.

“It is queer, Sam, and I must say I don’t like it.  I think this is a case where no news is bad news.  I think if everything was going along all right in New York, Dick would surely let us know.  I am afraid he is having a good deal of trouble in straightening out Dad’s business.”

“Just the way I look at it,” responded Sam, as the brothers prepared to leave the room.

“One thing is sure, Pelter, Japson & Company certainly did all they could to mix matters up, and I doubt very much if they gave Dad all that was coming to him.”

“I believe I made a mistake in coming back to college,” pursued Tom, as the two boys walked out into the corridor, where they met several other students on the way to the dining hall.  “I think I ought to have given up college and gone to New York City to help Dick straighten out that business tangle.  Now that Dad is sick again, the whole responsibility rests on Dick’s shoulders, and he ought not to be made to bear it alone.”

“Well, if you feel that way, Tom, why don’t you break away and go?  I think, perhaps, it would be not only a good thing for Dick, but it would, also, be a good thing for you,” and, for the moment, Sam looked very seriously at his brother.

Tom reddened a bit, and then put his forefinger to his forehead.  “You mean it would help me here?” And then, as Sam nodded, he added:  “Oh, don’t you worry.  I am all right now, my head doesn’t bother me a bit.  But I do wish I could get just one good chance at Pelter for the crack that rascal gave me on the head with the footstool.”

“It certainly was a shame to let him off, Tom, hut you know how father felt about it.  He was too sick to be worried by a trial at law and all that.”

“Yes, I know, but just the same, some day I am going to square accounts with Mr. Jesse Pelter,” and Tom shook his head determinedly.

Passing down the broad stairway of Brill College, the two Rover boys made their way to the dining hall.  Here the majority of the students were rapidly assembling for the evening meal, and the lads found themselves among a host of friends.

“Hello, Songbird!  How are you this evening?” cried Tom, as he addressed a tall, scholarly-looking individual who wore his hair rather long.  “Have you been writing any poetry to-day?”

“Well,—­ er—­ not exactly, Tom,” muttered John Powell, otherwise known as Songbird because of his numerous efforts to compose what he called poetry.  “But I have been thinking up a few rhymes.”