“I don’t know what to think. If a fellow is out of his head he is liable to do almost anything. I want him watched, and what is more, I’d like you fellows to keep this to yourselves. I don’t want the whole college to know it.”
“You can trust me to keep mum,” said Spud, promptly.
“I shan’t say a word,” added Songbird. “I think too much of Tom. Why, he is one of the finest fellows in the world when he is all right!”
“All right, I’ll keep quiet too,” said Stanley. “And I won’t hold anything against him. But you had better watch him pretty closely,” was the warning.
Of course Tom wanted to know all about his father’s business and Dick told him as much as he thought was necessary. He did not want to worry his sick brother and so kept back a good deal of what he had related to Sam.
“Don’t you worry about me, Dick!” cried Tom, on parting. “I’ll be all right!” And he waved his hand gaily, and so did Sam, as the big touring car moved away in the direction of Ashton.
Fortunately for the boys, the lessons that day were not hard and Tom and Sam came through without missing. Then followed a settling down to the work of the term; and thus a week slipped by.
Day by day Sam watched Tom closely. He made his brother take his pills regularly and also made him take outdoor exercise, and aided him as much as possible in his studies and with his themes. All the others were very friendly, and even Stanley came up and told Tom that he was sorry he had been so harsh.
“Well, I don’t blame you, Stanley,” said Tom, frankly. “It was a mighty poor joke. I don’t see how I did it.” And there the matter was dropped.
It was ideal weather for outdoor sports and sometimes the lads would go out for a game of baseball, or football, just as the whim seized them. Of course the college had its regular teams on the diamond and the gridiron, but the Rovers did not care enough for the sport to try for these, even though they had made creditable records at Putnam Hall.
“Great news!” cried Tom, coming into the gymnasium one afternoon, after playing with some of the students on the campus.
“What’s that?” asked several, curiously.
“A couple of moving picture men from Chicago have leased Cameron’s Hall in Ashton and they are going to open a moving picture theater next week. Won’t that be fine? I love the movies, and now we’ll be able to go there whenever we want to.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE JOKE ON WILLIAM PHILANDER
The news Tom had brought created much interest in Brill. In the past anything in the shape of public amusement for the students had been scarce. Once in a while a cheap theatrical company would stop at Ashton and give a performance, but usually it was of such a poor order that if the boys went they would poke fun at it.
“How do you know it will be any good, Tom?” asked Songbird.
“Oh, I’m not sure that it will be. But the druggist told me that the men were well-known in the movies and had some first-class show-houses elsewhere, so I’m hoping it will be all right.”
“Is it going to be a five or ten-cent house?” asked another.
“Five in the afternoon and ten at night.”
“Then I’m going to begin to save my pennies,” announced Spud, seriously. “I’ve got two saved already and if I am careful for the next month or two I’ll have enough to buy a ticket.”
“That is, provided I’ll lend you one cent,” added Tom, and this caused a general grin. He looked around and saw William Philander approaching. “Hi, Tubblets!” he called out. “Here’s a job for you.” And he waved his hand quickly for the dudish student to approach.
“Now, no more jokes, Tom Rover,” was the warning of the stylishly-dressed one. “No more jokes.”
“Jokes?” repeated Tom. “This is a job—a splendid situation—open to just such a handsome, well-proportioned young gentleman like yourself.”
“What—ah—do you want?” asked William Philander, curiously.
“Wouldn’t you like to assist during the evening at a new entertainment at Ashton? A couple of gentlemen are getting up an entertainment for the benefit of the ladies and gentlemen and they wish the aid of a real nice young man, to show the folks to their seats and make them comfortable, and all that. And maybe they’ll want you to sing—just to help things along, you know.”
“Oh, is that it?” and the dudish student’s face brightened. On several occasions he had assisted at charity bazaars and the like, and had been in his element among the well-dressed girls and their mothers.
“I think you would just fill the bill, Willie,” went on Tom. “You are the best looking fellow here, and of course we know nobody dresses quite as well as you do.”
“Oh, yes, of course—it’s very kind to mention that, Tom,” and William Philander commenced to swell up with pride. “Yes, I do try to keep up with the fashions. But about this entertainment. Who is getting it up and what benefit is it for?”
“Two gentlemen named Carr and Beckwith are getting it up. I don’t know about the benefit. You can find out about that from them. But it’s a splendid chance to show what you can do. You know all about showing folks to seats, and all that, don’t you?”
“Why, yes, of course.”
“And you could sing, eh?”
“Well,—ah—I might render that spring song—‘Come Where the Flowers are Blooming, Dearest Mary.’”
“Just the cheese—I mean it would be fine, Tubby. They’d all go wild about that song. It’s the same one you sang for the Prince of Moneco, isn’t it?—or was it the Duke of Twisters?”
“I—er—I never sang for those folks, Tom—I sang it at the Ladies Aid of the Golden Hope Society, and at the Quarterly Gathering of the Poladic Society.”
“Yes, yes, I remember now. Well, you are just the one to fill the bill, Bill, yes, you are.”
“Please don’t call me Bill, it’s horrid. But where shall I find out about this—er—entertainment?”
“At Carter’s new drug-store. The gentlemen are to be there Saturday afternoon, to make all arrangements. You go by all means—I know they will be delighted to have your assistance.”
“This isn’t a—er—a joke, Tom?” asked William Philander, suspiciously.
“They want somebody, I tell you, honest. Don’t they, Jepson?” went on Tom, turning to a lad who had been to Ashton with him.
“They sure do,” answered Jepson, and then turned away to hide the broad grin on his face.
“How long is the entertainment to last?”
“You will have to get all the information from the gentlemen,” answered Tom, calmly. “Just go down to the drug store and ask for Mr. Carr and Mr. Beckwith, and they’ll tell you all about it. It’s a fine chance for you, Tubby,” concluded Tom, and then walked away, followed by his chums.
“Tom, what is the game?” demanded Sam, when they were out of hearing.
“We’ll go down to the drug store Saturday afternoon and see,” was the reply.
“Are Carr and Beckwith the moving picture men?”
“Yes, and they want a young man to play usher, and do a lot of other things—one who can sing preferred,” and the fun-loving Tom grinned broadly.
“Oh, Tom, and you would send William Philander there!” cried Songbird. “Such a dude as he is! He’ll never forgive you!”
“There is seven dollars a week in it to start,” answered the fun-loving Rover calmly, and this made all in the crowd roar, for they knew how rich Tubbs was and how working for seven dollars a week would appeal to him.
This conversation occurred on Thursday and the crowd of boys waited impatiently for Saturday to come. Sam was glad to notice that Tom seemed to improve daily and was acting very much like his old self.
On Saturday, directly after lunch, Sam and Tom saw William Philander start off for Ashton. He was stylishly dressed as usual and carried a
gold-headed cane, and in his buttonhole was a large carnation.
“Now for the fun!” cried Tom, and he and Sam quickly gathered their chums together and all went after the dude, but kept out of his sight.
The drug store that William Philander was bound for was located on a corner, with doors opening on both streets. On the side street there was also an ordinary window, and both doors and window were wide open.
“We’ll go around to the side and watch him,” suggested Tom, and this was done.
Sprucing up, so as to look his very best, William Philander strode into the drug store. As it chanced, several young ladies of the town were having soda at the fountain, and as he had once met one of them, he made a most profound bow, lifting his hat as he did so. Then he approached the proprietor of the shop, who was putting up a prescription at the rear counter, close to the open window.
“Mr. Carter I believe?” he lisped.
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”
“I am Mr. William Philander Tubbs, from Brill College,” was the lofty answer. “Perhaps you have heard of me. I came in to meet two gentlemen, Mr. Carr and Mr. Beckwith. Are they here?”
“Not yet, Mr—er—Mr. Phillips?”
“No, no, Mr. William Philander Tubbs. When will they be here, may I ask?”
“I expect ’em any moment, Mr—er—Mr. Tubbs.”
“Then I’ll wait for them,” answered the dude, and sank down in a chair.
“Have you got an interest in that show?” asked the druggist, as he continued to compound the prescription.
“Not yet, but I may have,” answered William Philander, calmly. “It will be quite a grand affair, I presume.”
“They say it will be the best Ashton ever had.”
“Is that so! Then I am very glad I came to take part,” went on William Philander, warming up. “I am sure I can be of great service to Messrs. Carr and Beckwith. I have had a great deal of experience, you know.”
“Thought you said you were from Brill?”
“Oh, yes, but, don’t you know, I have assisted at many entertainments,” gushed William Philander. “Why, some entertainments would have been absolute failures if I had not taken part.”
“Hum, is that so!” returned the druggist. Tubbs’ dudish ways did not strike him very favorably. “Well, here is Mr. Beckwith now, you can tell him about it,” he added.
A burly, red-faced man, with a heavy moustache, had entered. He was evidently in a hurry and full of business.
“Anybody call about that job, Mr. Carter?” he asked, abruptly.
“This young man wants to see you,” answered the druggist, and indicated William Philander.
“You are Mr. Beckwith?”
“Yes.”
“Permit me,” and the stylish-dressed student presented his card. “I was told you were getting up an entertainment and needed some assistance,” continued William Philander. “Now I have had a great deal of experience in that line, and the ladies always seem to be glad to see me. I can aid in getting up the proper programme, and all that, you know. I was on the committee of the Charity Bazaar, and the Plainvine Dog Show, and the Ladies’ Aid of the Golden Hope Society, and the Blue Banner Social, and—”
“Say, what are you pouring into me?” gasped Mr. Beckwith, in astonishment. “Do you think I am running a pink tea, or a ladies’ sewing circle? I don’t need anybody to help me to get up a programme; my partner, Mr. Carr, attends to that end of it. What I need is a strong, willing fellow to take tickets and usher folks to seats, and keep the floor free of rubbish, and all that.”
“W-h-a-t!” shrieked William Philander. “You—you—what sort of an entertainment are you going to give?” he faltered.
“Why, didn’t you know? We are going to open the Eclipse Moving Picture Theater, in Cameron’s Hall, over yonder. We advertised for a young man, to take tickets, usher, and make himself generally useful. We’ll have a little vaudeville with the photo plays, and if the young fellow can sing, or dance, we’ll give him a chance at it.”
“Oh, dear me! Did you ever!” gasped poor William Philander. And then, as he saw that the girls at the soda fountain had heard all that was going on, he turned red.
“I hardly think you will do for the job,” went on the moving picture man. “You don’t look—er—well, strong enough.”
“Job,” wailed William Philander. “I—er—I don’t want any job! Oh, this is dreadful, horrible! It’s one of Tom Rover’s jokes! I might have known it. Sent me all the way to Ashton to try to get a position in a horrid moving picture show! Oh, this is the worst ever!” And looking the picture of despair, poor Tubbs rushed from the drug store, with the laughter of the proprietor, the show man, and the girls ringing in his ears.
From the window and the side door Tom, Sam, and the others had seen and heard all that took place. They had all they could do to suppress their mirth, and when Tubbs came storming out of the drug store they lost no time in disappearing out of sight behind the building. They watched the stylishly-dressed student prance down the street, brandishing his cane viciously in the air.
“Just wait till he catches you, Tom,” remarked Spud.
“He’ll about half kill you,” added Stanley.
“Oh, I guess I can stand it,” answered the fun-loving Rover, calmly.
“It was rather a rough joke,” was Sam’s comment.
“Oh, he needs something like that, to take the awful conceit out of him,” came from Songbird. “Why, he is getting worse and worse every day. Half the students are down on him. This may do him good.”
“I doubt if you can make William Philander improve,” was Stanley’s comment. “The only thing that will do it is to send him off to sea, or on a ranch, and make him rough it for a while.”
Tom expected to see Tubbs that evening, but the dudish student kept out of sight. He did not show himself until Sunday afternoon, and then he had but little to say. But he eyed Tom in a manner that was new to William Philander.
“He is going to get back at you, Tom,” said Sam. “Better keep your eyes open.”
On Monday afternoon Tom and Sam went down to the water for a short row. They came back just before supper and rushed up to their room to fix up a bit.
“Hello, the door is locked!” cried Tom, trying it.
“And the keyhole is plugged,” added Sam, taking a look.
Then the brothers looked at each other.
“I guess William Philander Tubbs did it,” said Tom.
CHAPTER IX
WILLIAM PHILANDER TURNS THE TABLES
It was useless to try to open the door. The lock was filled up with a wad of paper that refused to budge.
“If it’s only paper we can burn it out,” suggested Sam. “But it may scorch the door.”
“We’ll go through by the way of Songbird’s room,” said Tom.
There was a door connecting the two rooms. It was not supposed to be used, for one of the beds was against it. But the bed was rolled to one side by Tom. Songbird and his roommate had already gone below.
“Here’s the key,” said Sam, bringing it from a nearby nail. “It’s a wonder William Philander didn’t plug this keyhole, too.”
“Maybe he didn’t have time,” answered Tom. “Always supposing it really was Tubbs.”
“That’s so—iy may have been somebody else.”
The connecting door was unlocked and Tom and Sam walked into their own apartment. Both gave a cry of astonishment.
And not without reason. The room had been “stacked,” and every boy who has ever attended boarding school or college knows what that means. In the center of the room lay the parts of the two beds in a heap and on top of those parts were piled a miscellaneous collection of books, chairs, clothing, the table and bureau, looking glass, an empty water pitcher, football, baseball bats, shoes, bed clothing, rugs, p
apers, pens, pencils, soap, caps, a steamer trunk from the closet, several framed photographs, some college banners, and a score of other articles. On the very top of the heap was a fancy sofa pillow Nellie had given to Tom and to this was pinned a card, on which was written, in a disguised scrawl:
Hoping you will enjoy your job!
“It was William Philander all right enough,”, murmured Sam, as he and his brother inspected the card. “You sent him to one job, and he is sending us to another,” and he heaved a deep sigh.
“Some work, Sammy,” returned Tom. “Well, we can’t go at it now—it will take us two hours to straighten things up. We’ll do it after supper.”
“Going after Tubbs for this?”
“What’s the use? I don’t blame him for getting back at us. I guess, after all, that joke I played on him was rather rough,” replied Tom.
It took the best part of three hours to put the room back into shape. Some ink had been spilled on one of the mattresses, and the glass over one of the photographs had been broken, but that was all the real damage that had been done, and it looked to be accidental. The wad of paper in the keyhole was picked out piece-meal by means of a big fishhook. The key was in the heap on the floor, having been flung through the open transom after the door was locked and plugged.
“Well, he got back at you right enough,” said Songbird, while the room was being re-arranged.
“Dot’s chust vot he did, py golly!” came from Max Spangler.
After this incident the boys settled down to their studies for the best part of a week. Tom was now doing very well, although he still complained of his head.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Sam, one afternoon, after the Eclipse photo playhouse in Ashton had been opened. “Why can’t we make up a party some afternoon or evening and take the girls to the show?”
“I thought of that,” answered Tom. “But don’t you think it would be best for us to go alone first and see what sort of a place it is? Some of these country show places have pretty rough audiences.”
“Oh, Ashton isn’t such a common town as that, Tom. But maybe it would be better to size it up first. What do you say if we go down next Wednesday evening? We might make up a little party, with Songbird and the others.”
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