The Rover Boys Megapack

by Edward Stratemeyer

  “Yes,” was the answer from the Rover boys’ old chum. “Isn’t it odd that I should be thinking of you just as we meet?” and he shook hands.

  “Hullo, if it ton’t peen dem Rofer brudders alretty,” cried the round-faced lad, with a twinkle in his eyes. “I dink me you vos left der Hall for goot, yah!”

  “Hans Mueller!” came from Sam. “Then you are going back, too? I thought you had scarlet fever?”

  “Not much I ain’t,” said the German youth. “I vos eat too much of dem puckveat cakes alretty, und dot makes mine face preak owid, put I ain’t got no scarlet fefers, nein! How you vos alretty annahow?” And he shook hands as Larry had done.

  “I can hardly believe your story about being cast away on an island in the Pacific,” said Larry.

  “Your letter read like a fairy tale. If you tell the fellows they’ll think you are drawing the long bow.”

  “Yes, Larry vos told me somedings apoud dot,” broke in Hans. “You vos regular Robinson Roosters,” he said.

  “Great Scott! Robinson Roosters!” yelled Tom, bursting out into a fit of laughter. “Boys, we are discovered at last.”

  “Well, if you are, you needn’t crow over it,” came from Larry.

  “Roosters and crowing! Oh, Larry, I didn’t think you’d begin to pun so early,” put in Sam.

  “He just hatched it out,” said Tom.

  “I suppose you think that sounds chic,” joined in Dick. And then there was a laugh in which all but Hans Mueller joined. The German youth looked blankly from one to another of his companions.

  “Vos dot Robinson Rooster a choke?” he demanded. “Of it vos let me in by it kvick.”

  “Oh, you couldn’t climb in on a gangway and a step-ladder combined,” answered Tom.

  “Put vos you Robinson Roosters or vos you not Robinson Roosters?”

  “Oh, we were Robinson Roosters right enough,” answered Tom, when he could control his laughter.

  “Den vot you vos giggling apout, hey?”

  “Nothing, only it was so funny to be a Robinson Rooster and live on a big island with nobody but lions, buffaloes, snakes, and ‘cannonballs,’” added the fun-loving youth.

  “Cannonballs?” queried Larry

  “That’s what Aleck Pop calls ‘em, Larry. He said it was a wonder the ‘cannonballs’ hadn’t eaten us up,” and then came another laugh, during which Hans was as mute as ever.

  “Vos dere lions, snakes, and buffaloes py dot island on?” went on the German youth.

  “To be sure there were, Hans. And likewise elephants, panthers, cats, dogs, hippopotamuses, mice, elk, rats, and winged jibberjackers.”

  “Mine gracious, Tom! Und you vosn’t eaten up alretty kvick!”

  “None of the animals troubled us, but the three-horned jibberjacker. He came into our house one night, crawled upstairs, and began to swallow Sam alive.”

  “You ton’t tole me!”

  “Yes, I do tell you. He had Sam in his mouth, and had swallowed him as far as his waist, when Sam began to kick on the floor with his feet.”

  “I see, I see—” Hans’ eyes were as big as saucers.

  “That woke Dick and me up, and we ran and got Sam by the legs, and pulled for all we were worth.”

  “You ton’t tole me, Tom! Und vot did dot vot-you-call-him do den?”

  “He planked his ten feet on the floor, and—”

  “His ten feet did you said, Tom?” interrupted Hans doubtfully.

  “To be sure. Didn’t you know that a real jibberjacker has ten feet?”

  “Maype I did—I ton’t oxactly remember about him.”

  “I am surprised at your ignorance of natural history, Hans. Yes, the real jibberjacker has ten feet, although a branch of the family, known as the jibbertwister, has only eight feet.”

  “Well, go on. He planked his ten feets by der floor town—”

  “He held on and so did we, and it was a regular tug of war between us. Sam was swallowed as far as the waist, and couldn’t do anything to help himself. You just ask Sam if that isn’t so.”

  “When Tom tells the truth it’s a fact every time, Hans,” answered Sam, who felt as if he would choke from suppressed laughter.

  “So the blamed old jibberjacker held on and held on,” continued Tom. “Then we gave a tug and he gave a tug, and all of a sudden Sam came out. The shock was so great it threw Dick and me clear across the room, and through a doorway into the next room. But the poor jibberjacker fared still worse.”

  “How vos dot?”

  “He flew up against the outside wall, and his weight was so great he went right through the side of the building, and landed on some rocks below. All of his ten legs were broken, and of course he couldn’t get away, so we went down, got a long cross-cut saw, and sawed off his head. Now, if you don’t believe that story, you come to our house sometime and I’ll show you the cross-cut saw.”

  Hans stared in breathless amazement. His solemn face was too much for the others, and a peal of laughter rang through the car. At this Hans grew suspicious, and at length a sickly grin overspread his features.

  “I know you, Tom Rofer,” he said. “Dot vos von of dem fish stories, ain’t it alretty?”

  “No, it’s a jibberjacker story, Hans.”

  “It vos a jibjacker fish story den annahow. You can’t fool me some more. I vos too schmart for dot alretty. Ven I go py der academy I git mine ear teeths cut, hey?”

  “All right, Hans, if you have cut your ear-teeth we’ll call it off,” said Dick, and here the conversation took a more rational turn.

  “So far as I know only a few of the fellows have left the Hall on account of the scarlet fever scare,” said Larry. “And they were boys that nobody seemed to care much about.”

  “I was told that the fellows expected to elect an entirely new lot of officers,” said Sam. “We have been away so much I’ve rather lost track of our military affairs.”

  “Captain Putnam said we would have to ballot for officers as soon as all the boys were back,” said Larry. “Some of the old officers have graduated, you must remember.”

  “I’ve not forgotten that I was once second lieutenant of Company A,” put in Dick. “Reckon I’ll have to try my luck once more—if the boys want me to run.”

  “Well, I want you to run for one, Dick,” said Larry. “Hans, you’ll vote for Dick, won’t you?”

  “Yah, und I vonts him to vote for me, too,” said the German youth.

  “Why, Hans, do you want to be water-carrier this year?” asked Sam.

  “Nein, I vonts to be high brivate py der rear rank alretty. Von of der fellows tole me dot would chust suit me.”

  “All right, Hans, we’ll all elect you high private of the rear rank,” answered Larry with a laugh.

  CHAPTER VI

  FUN ON THE BOAT

  At the city of Ithaca the boys stopped long enough to get dinner, and were here joined by Fred Garrison and George Granbury, two more of their old school chums.

  “Hurrah for the gathering of the clans!” cried George Granbury, with a beaming face. “This is like a touch of old times. How are all of you, anyway?”

  “First rate, with the exception of Hans here,” said Tom. “He’s got the buckwheat measles.”

  “Yah, und Tom he’s got der jipperjocker fefer,” declared the German boy, bound to do his best to get square.

  “Good for Hans!” cried Sam. “Tom, after this, you have got to take care, or Hansie will roast you.”

  “Oh, Hans is just all right,” observed Tom, and when the German boy’s face was turned away he took the latter’s coffee and put into it about a teaspoonful of salt. “Tell you what, fellows, this coffee just touches the spot,” he added loudly.

  “Right you are,” said Fred Garrison. “Never tasted better in my life.”

  So far Hans ha
d not touched the coffee, but hearing the words he took up his cup and downed a deep draught. It may be added that he was a German who loved coffee a good deal, and frequently drank several cups at a meal.

  For an instant the German youth said nothing. Then his face turned pale.

  “Dat coffee was no goot!” he gasped.

  “Why, Hans,” cried several.

  “See how pale he is getting,” came from George Granbury. “Hans, are you going to die?

  “Don’t say the coffee is going to poison him,” burst out Tom. “I was reading about poison getting into the coffee at this hotel last week. But, of course—”

  “Did da got poison py der coffee in here?” demanded Hans.

  “To be sure, put—”

  “How vos dot poisoned coffee taste annahow?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “I think it was a little salty,” came from Fred Garrison.

  “Mine cracious me! Of dot’s so I vos poisoned, sure. Run for der toctor kvick!”

  “Here, eat some jam, Hans. That will counteract the effect of the poison,” said Tom, and handed over a small dish with jam in it, over which he had just sprinkled the pepper with an exceedingly liberal hand.

  Anxious to do anything that would stop him from being poisoned, the German boy clutched the dish and took a large spoonful of the jam. But as he gulped it, he gave a gasp, and the tears started down his cheeks.

  “Du meine zeit!” he bawled. “I vos purnt up alife by mine mouth alretty! Dake it avay kvick!” And jumping up from the table he began to dance around madly.

  “It’s a serious case,” said Tom. “If he’s burning up we had better call out the fire department.”

  This remark made Hans grow suddenly suspicious. He caught up Tom’s cup of coffee and tasted it.

  “I know you, Tom Rofer,” he said. “Dot vos more dricks of yours, ain’t it?” He held the cup of coffee on high. “How you like dot, hey!” And splash! down came the coffee on Tom’s head, and trickled down his back.

  “Hi, you! let up!” roared Tom, and knocked the half-empty cup to one side. “Let up, I say, or I’ll have the landlord put you out.”

  “I told you to take care, Tom,” came from Sam, when the other boys had restored quietness. “When Hans gets his dander up he is dangerous.”

  “Dot is drue,” came from Hans. “I vonts no more of them chokes alretty.” And then, as the waiter came hurrying up, he forced Tom to order him another cup of coffee, and took good care to keep it out of the fun-loving youth’s reach. Poor Tom sopped away the spilt coffee as best he could, but it must be admitted that for the balance of that day his backbone felt none too comfortable. Yet he bore no grudge towards Hans, for he knew that he had deserved the punishment meted out to him.

  Down at the dock the boys found the Golden Star, a trim little side-wheeler, ready to take them up the lake. There were about half a hundred passengers, bound for various landings, and among them six Putnam Hall scholars, including our old-time acquaintances, Jack Powell, generally called Songbird Powell, because of his habit of composing poems and songs, and that aristocratic young gentleman who rejoiced in the name of William Philander Tubbs.

  “The family is surely getting together,” remarked Dick, after another handshaking had been indulged in. “Songbird, do you warble as much as ever?”

  “You can wager a sweet potato he does,” said George Granbury. “Nothing short of a cyclone will ever stop Songbird’s warbling, eh, Songbird?”

  For reply the youth addressed turned a pair of dreamy eyes on the speaker, and then said slowly:

  “With hopeful hearts

  And brightest faces,

  To school we go

  To fill our places.

  We’ll study hard,

  And do our best—”

  “If Songbird Powell

  Will give us a rest!”

  finished Tom. “Oh, Songbird, have mercy on us, and don’t begin so early.”

  “You’re a good one to preach, Tom,” came from Larry. “Started to joke the moment we met him, didn’t he, Hans?”

  “Did I?” questioned Tom innocently. “I had forgotten.” He turned to Tubbs. “And how is our friend Philliam Willander to-day?”

  “William Philander, if you please, Rover,” was the dignified reply. “I must insist on your getting my name correctly this term.”

  “All right, Tubby, old boy, it shall be just as you say. I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for a big red apple.”

  “Then, please don’t call me Tubby. You know my real name is William Philander Tubbs.”

  “Don’t you want Esquire tacked to it, too?”

  “That is hardly necessary as yet. But you may write it after my name, if you have occasion to send me any written communication,” continued Tubbs, with greater dignity than ever.

  “Phew! but Tubby is worse than he was before,” whispered Sam to Dick. “They must have been tuning him up at home.”

  “Tubbs is going to try for a captaincy this term,” said Powell, who had not minded Tom’s interruption of his versification in the least.

  “Hurrah for Captain Tubbs!” cried Tom. “Captain, allow me to salute you,” and he made a sweeping bow to the deck. Tom spoke so earnestly that Tubbs was pleased, and instantly forgot their little differences.

  “I shall be pleased to become a captain,” said the young gentleman. “I feel I can fill the position with credit to myself and dignity to the academy. There is military blood in my veins, for a second cousin on my mother’s side was a lieutenant in the Civil War. Besides that, I have studied military movements at West Point, where I went to see the cadets drill.”

  “Do you know how to swab out a cannon?” asked Sam, with a wink at the others.

  “I shouldn’t—ah—care for such dirty work,” replied William Philander Tubbs with dignity.

  “Or police a camp?”

  “Surely you don’t think I was ever a policeman?”

  “Don’t you remember what policing a camp is?” asked George Granbury.

  “Upon my honor, I do not.”

  “It means to clean up the streets, burn up the rubbish, and all that.”

  “Thank you, but I do not—ah—care to become a street cleaner,” returned Tubbs, with great dignity.

  “Sorry, but I’m afraid you are not cut out for a corporalship,” came from Tom.

  “I didn’t say a corporalship, Tom, I said—”

  “Excuse me, I meant a sergeantship.”

  “No, I said—”

  “Make it a second lieutenantship, then, Tubby. Anything to be friends, you know.”

  “I said—”

  “Oh, bother, if you want to be a major-general, go ahead. Nobody will stop you.”

  “Hurrah, Major-General Tubbs!” cried Sam. “That sounds well, doesn’t it, fellows?”

  “We’ll have to present him with a tin-plated sword,” came from one of the crowd.

  “And a pair of yellow worsted epaulets,” added another.

  And then Songbird Powell began to sing softly:

  “Rub a dub, dub! Here comes General Tubb!

  He’ll make you bow to the ground!

  You must stop ev’ry lark,

  And toe the chalk mark,

  As soon as he comes around.”

  “There you are, Tubby; think of Songbird composing a poem in your honor,” cried Tom. “You ought to present him with a leather medal.”

  “I—I don’t like such—er—such doggerel,” cried William Philander Tubbs angrily. “I think—”

  “Well, I never!” ejaculated Tom, in pretended astonishment. “And Songbird worked so hard over it, too! Thus doth genius receive its reward. Songbird, if I were you, I’d give up writing poems, and go turn railroad president, track-walker, or something like that.” />
  “You boys are simply horrid, don’t you know!” cried Tubbs, and, pushing his way through the crowd, he walked to the other end of the boat.

  “Being away from school hasn’t done Tubby any good,” was Fred Garrison’s remark. “He thinks he’s the High Tum-Tum, and no mistake.”

  “Don’t fret, he’ll be taken down before the term is over,” came from Larry Colby.

  “That’s true,” added another pupil, who had been taken down himself two terms before. “And when he hits his level he’ll be just as good as any of us.”

  The time on the steamer passed quickly enough, and after several stops along the lake, the Golden Star turned in at the Cedarville landing, and all of the Putnam Hall cadets went ashore.

  CHAPTER VII

  SOMETHING ABOUT THE MILITARY ACADEMY

  As my old readers know, Cedarville was only a small country village, so the arrival and departure of the steamer was a matter of importance to the inhabitants.

  The boys, consequently, found the little dock crowded with sightseers and more than one face looked familiar to them.

  “There are the Rover boys,” said one man, quite loudly. “Everybody knows ‘em.”

  “We are growing notorious, it would seem,” whispered Dick to Sam.

  Back of the dock stood the big carryall attached to Putnam Hall, with the old Hall driver, Peleg Snuggers, on the box.

  “Hullo, Peleg, old friend!” shouted Tom, waving his hand at the man. “How are we to-morrow, as the clown in the circus puts it?”

  “I’m all right, Master Tom—an’ will be so long as you let me alone,” was the deliberate answer from the driver.

  “He remembers you all right enough, Tom,” came from George Granbury.

  “Now, Peleg, don’t throw cold water on my enthusiasm,” said Tom reproachfully.

  “I ain’t throwin’ water on nobody, Master Tom; I’m only giving fair warning that I want to be let alone,” answered the driver doggedly. “No more monkey shines around me, remember that.”

  “All right, Peleg, I’ll remember. And how is Mrs. Green, our worthy housekeeper?”

  “First-rate.”

  “No whooping-cough?”

  “No.”

  “Nor measles, or chicken-pox?”