The Rover Boys Down East: or, The Struggle for the Stanhope Fortune

“Where do we come in?”

“You are seventh.”

“Oh, lucky seventh!” murmured the fun-loving Rover. “It’s always that way! At baseball if I do anything at all it is usually in the seventh innings.”

“Don’t grow superstitious, Tom.”

“Where do you come in?”

“I stand fifth.”

“That’s splendid, Sam! Oh, come on and jig!” And Tom caught his brother by the waist and whirled him around. Over the gymnasium floor they went, to land suddenly into the form of William Philander Tubbs, who had just entered.

“Oh, I say, don’t you know – ” spluttered William Philander. He had the breath all but knocked out of his body.

“Excuse me, Tublets,” cried Tom.

“Don’t call me Tublets, please,” expostulated the tall student. “And please don’t run into me again.”

“Oh, Sam and I were only doing a war dance,” cried Tom, gaily. “We have passed our exams.”

“You are very rude, don’t you know.”

“It shan’t occur again, Philliam Willander.”

“William Philander, Tom.”

“To be sure, I am glad I am sorry that I remember I forgot,” answered Tom, gravely. “It shan’t occur again the last time, I assure you.”

“Oh, Tom, let up!” put in Dick, who had come up. “We have passed – doesn’t that make you feel good?”

“And you at the head of the class, Dick! Say, if I had wings, or an aeroplane, I’d fly!”

“Come on for a last swing on the rings!” exclaimed Dick, and led the way, and soon all of the brothers were exercising on the flying rings with which the college gymnasium was equipped.

It was Monday afternoon and studies were practically at an end and all the boys had to do was to pack up their things and wait for the time to go home.

On Sunday morning the three Rovers had driven over to Hope Seminary and taken Dora and the Lanings to church. At that time it had been arranged that all should start for home on the early morning train on the following Wednesday. They would travel together as far as a place called Cartown and then separate, the girls to go on to Cedarville and the lads to journey to Oak Run, the nearest railroad station to the farm.

“Some of the fellows are going home Tuesday night,” said Dick. “So if we are going to have any fun we had better have it Monday night,” and so it was arranged.

The Rovers had had no further opportunity to talk to Dudd Flockley. They noticed that Flockley avoided them and seemed to be in deep thought.

“I suppose he is thinking of Koswell and Larkspur,” said Dick. “Poor fellow, I feel sorry for him! I hope he doesn’t let them drag him down any deeper.”

“He has only himself to blame for the position he is in,” said Sam. “We did what we could for him – more than most fellows would do, Dick.”

“That is true, Sam.”

Supper was had at the usual hour and then the students commenced to gather on the campus and down by the river. Nearly everybody was in good humor, and they sang, and made a racket generally. Bonfires were lit, and also a string of paper lanterns.

“I’ve got a surprise for the crowd,” said Tom to Sam. “Come on and help me to wake Brill up.”

“How?” questioned the younger Rover.

“I’ll soon show you – come with me.”

Tom led the way to a storeroom behind the gymnasium. In one corner, under some old canvas, was a box several feet long, that had come in by express.

“I had the time of my life getting this here without having it pass inspection by the Head,” said Tom.

“What’s in it, Tom?”

“Fireworks – a regular Fourth of July outfit – rockets, Roman candles, pinwheels, bombs, and all. I sent the order to the city a week ago.”

“Good for you!” cried Sam, with a grin. “This will certainly wake up the natives.”

“See if you can get Dick to help us. But be careful – I want to surprise all the rest, even Stanley.”

“I’ll get him,” answered Sam, and hurried off.

A little later, when it was quite dark, the three Rover boys shouldered the big box and carried it to the edge of the woods beside the campus. Then they opened the box and took out the fireworks.

“Guess we’ll send up a few bombs first, just to wake everybody up,” said Tom.

A minute later a large-sized bomb went whistling upward in the air. It flew high over the college building, to burst with a deafening report.

“Hello, what’s that?” yelled several.

“Who fired that shot?”

“Did a cannon go off?”

“It was an aerial bomb – and there goes another!” cried Allen Charter. “Somebody is celebrating in earnest.”

All of the students on the campus stared at the bombs in wonder, while others came rushing from various buildings, to learn the meaning of the reports.

“Who shot off the cannon?” stormed Professor Sharp. “It’s against the rules to shoot off that cannon without permission.”

“It wasn’t the cannon, Professor,” explained Frank Holden. “It was a bomb. Somebody – ”

Boom! went another bomb, and it was right over the professor’s head. The professor was scared and ducked wildly.

“I want the person who is doing that – ” he commenced, but got no further, for just then a big rocket went hissing through the air, to burst a second later and let fall a beautiful shower of golden rain.

“Oh, isn’t that grand!”

“Say, this is something like!”