“Say, Songbird, I should think this would put you in the rhyming fever,” said Sam, as the four lads rowed out on the river.

“It does,” returned the would-be poet.

“All right, turn on the verse spigot and let us have the latest effusion,” cried Tom, gaily.

“The verses aren’t finished yet,” answered Songbird.  And then resting his oar, he drew from his pocket a slip of paper and began to read: 

  “The term is passed,
   Away we cast
      Our books and papers with great glee. 
   No more we’ll train
   Each tired brain——­”

  “Instead, we’ll cheer because we’re free!”

concluded Tom.

“Say, that isn’t half bad,” broke out Songbird, enthusiastically.  “I was going to put in something about flee——­”

“For gracious sake!  What have fleas to do with this poetry?” interposed Tom.

“Fleas!  Who said anything about fleas?” snorted Songbird.  “I said ‘flee,’ f-l-e-e.”

“Oh, I see!” That’s the flee that fled, not the flea who refuses to flee,” went on Tom.  And at this sally, the other boys laughed.

“Never mind, give us the rest of it,” put in Spud.

“There isn’t any ’rest’—­ not yet,” answered the would-be poet.  And then the bays resumed the row up the river.

CHAPTER XIII

 At the farm

“All aboard who are going!  We haven’t any time to spare if you want to catch that nine-fifteen train.”

“Good-bye, Tom, don’t forget to write.”

“Say, Spud, when you get down to the Maine coast, don’t eat too many lobsters.”

“And that puts me in mind, Stanley.  When you reach the Grand Canyon, send me a piece of rock; I want to see how the Canyon looks.”

“Say, whose baseball mitt is this anyway?” And following this question, the mitt came sailing through the air, to land on the floor of the Brill carryall.

“Please get off of my feet!” The wail came from William Philander Tubbs, who was sitting in a corner with another student partly on his lap.

“Everybody shove, and we’ll be off!” cried another student, merrily.

Then came a great mixture of cries and whistles, intermingled with the tooting of horns and the sounding of rattles, in the midst of which there moved from the Brill grounds several carriages and an equal number of automobiles.

The term had come to an end, and the students were preparing to scatter.  The majority were going home, but others had planned to go directly to the summer resorts where they were to spend their vacations.

“Good-bye, Brill!” sang out Tom, and, for once, his voice was a trifle husky.  Now that he was leaving the college not to return, a sudden queer sensation stole over the youth.  He looked at his brother, and then turned his gaze away.

“Never mind, Tom,” said Sam, softly.  “If I come back, as I expect, you’ll have to come and visit me.”