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Rover Boys in Camp

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<h2 id="id00336" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER VI</h2> <h5 id="id00337">FUN ON THE BOAT</h5> 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 had 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. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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