Page:The Eight-Oared Victors.djvu/13

Rh "Easy on that ancient and honorable piece of furniture!" cautioned Tom, as he looked anxiously at the sofa, which seemed to groan in protest at Phil's weight. "It won't stand much more mending, and that's no idle dream."

"Don't worry," said Phil, easily. "I think as much of this sofa as any of you."

"Um!" grunted Tom moodily, as he crossed over to the other armchair and threw himself into it at no small risk of going through the seat. "What's a fellow to do?" he asked.

Neither of his chums answered him. Sid had managed to rise without anyone's aid, and was examining a pile of books, as though trying to pick out the one containing the easiest lessons.

"Where's Frank?" asked Tom, after a silence.

"I saw the Big Californian crossing the campus awhile ago," replied Phil, closing his book and yawning. "He was bundled up in a raincoat, and seemed as chipper as a clam at high tide."

"Wish I had the spunk to go out," commented Sid. "The river must be nearly flood-high by this time, with all the water that's fallen."

"Water! Ugh! Don't mention it," begged Tom.

Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the ticking of the fussy little alarm clock. There was the rustle of the pages, as the two lads, studying, turned to various lessons. Tom got up with