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acted just right since he came back to Brill," said Songbird, in a low tone, "You know he got an awful crack on the head, and, somehow, he's been different ever since. I wouldn't lay it up against him, if I were you fellows."

      "Huh! I guess you'd lay it up against him if you had been soused down into that old well hole and were all wet and covered with mud!" growled Stanley. "Fun is fun, but that was no joke, I can tell you that! He deserves a good thrashing."

      "If he isn't right in his head they ought to put him under the doctor's care, or in a sanitarium," remarked Spud. "Why, if he isn't right in his mind there is no telling what he'll do next! He might take it into his head to murder some of us!"

      "Oh, I don't think it's as bad as that," answered Songbird, hastily. "I think in a short while he'll be just as he used to be. But the excitement of that capture of those brokers and old Crabtree, and the fight, and then Dick's wedding, were too much for him. What he needs, I think, is a good, long rest."

      "Well, he can keep away from me after this," grumbled Stanley, as he looked at his wet and bedrabbled clothes. "Nice sight we'll present going back to the college!"

      "I'll tell you what I'll do," suggested Songbird. "I'll go ahead, to the gym., and get you some changes and you can put them on in Dobb's barn. Then nobody will know about it."

      "All right," said Stanley, his face brightening a trifle.

      "What of Sam and Tom?" asked Spud, who was not as angry as his companion in misfortune.

      "I'll tell them we are going back," answered Songbird, and ran after the Rovers.

      In the meantime Sam and Tom had kept on walking – or rather Tom had hurried on and his brother had kept up with him, trying to make him turn back. But to all of Sam's entreaties Tom turned a deaf ear.

      "I came out for a walk and I'm going to walk," he said, stubbornly. "If they want to go back they can do it – and you and Songbird can go with 'em."

      "But, Tom, that isn't fair," insisted Sam. "They are all wet, and – "

      "Humph! a little water won't hurt 'em. I've been soaked myself more than once. If they can't take a joke let 'em go," and Tom continued to stalk on until he came to a flat rock, when he suddenly sat down to rest, at the same time putting both hands to his head.

      It was here that Songbird found them and informed them of what the others and himself proposed to do.

      "All right, Songbird; I guess that is best," said Sam, softly. "Tom doesn't feel just right and he'll rest here awhile."

      "Oh, I'm not sick!" cried Tom. "I'm sorry I played the trick, but I don't see any reason for Stanley and Spud to cut up about it." And then he got up as suddenly as he had sat down and stalked on once more.

      "Do your best to fix it up, Songbird," pleaded Sam, in a low tone. "You can see Tom isn't himself. Try to explain to those fellows."

      "I will. I think Tom ought to have a doctor," was the low reply; and then Songbird rejoined Stanley and Spud and the three started back to Brill.

      Tom stalked on for fully half a mile without speaking and Sam came behind him. The younger Rover was busy thinking and did not say a word. Presently the pair reached the end of the river path and came to a bridge and the highway. On the bridge Tom sat down again.

      "Want to go any further, Tom?" asked Sam, as pleasantly as he could.

      "I don't care where I go!" burst out the other. "I'm sick of it all! Sick of the college, sick of studying, sick of those fellows, sick of everything and everybody! I wish I could go to Africa, or the North Pole, or somewhere else, where I wouldn't see or hear of 'em again!"

      "Tom!"

      "I mean it. What's the use of keeping in the grind day after day, like a horse on a tread mill? What does a fellow get out of it? Nothing but hard work and a pain in the head! Some times my head hurts to beat the band! I can't stand it, and I won't! They are all against me, every one of 'em!" And Tom commenced to wring his hands, while two tears stood in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

      CHAPTER V

      TOM'S QUEER ACTIONS

      Sam did not know what to say or what to do. He realized more fully than ever that his brother was not himself. He was growing wilder and more irrational every moment.

      "Tom," he asked suddenly, "have you got those pills with you that the doctor gave you to take?"

      "Sure," was the ready answer.

      "Have you taken any lately?"

      "No. What's the use? They don't seem to help me."

      "Let me see them, please."

      "There they are." Tom brought the box from his pocket. "They might as well be bread pills, or Gumley's red ones," and he grinned for a moment at the recollection of the trick played on William Philander Tubbs.

      Sam took the box and looked at the directions carefully. "It says to take one three times a day when needed," he said. "You had better take one now, Tom. Come on."

      "It won't do any good, Sam."

      "Well, take one for me, that's a good fellow. Wait, I've got my pocket cup and I'll get some water." And he did so.

      "Oh, dear, you're bound to feed me pills," sighed Tom, and made a wry face as he swallowed the one Sam handed him. Sam kept the box, making up his mind that he would play nurse after this.

      "I guess we had better walk some more," said Tom, suddenly. "I hate sitting still. If we had the old Dartaway I'd take a sail from here to San Francisco, or some other far-off place."

      "Wait a little, I'm tired," answered Sam, soothingly. "Just see those little fishes!" he said, pointing to the water under the bridge.

      He made Tom get down and watch the fishes and bathed his brother's forehead. At first Tom was rather restless, but soon the pill seemed to take effect and he grew quiet.

      "I'm getting awfully tired," he announced, presently. "I guess we had better be getting back, Sam."

      "Just as you say, Tom," was the quiet reply.

      It was growing dark when they reached the college grounds and most of the students had gone in to supper. Tom said he did not feel much like eating, but his brother told him he had better have a little food, and they went in together. They saw Songbird and the others at another table. The would-be poet and Spud nodded to them, but Stanley paid no attention.

      Sam and Tom still occupied their old room, Number 25, while Songbird was still in Number 26. Since Dick was not to return to Brill his place in the latter room had been taken by Max Spangler, a jolly fellow of German-American parentage.

      "Vot is der madder mit Dom Rofer?" asked Max of the would-be poet, as both came up to the room after supper.

      "Oh, he isn't feeling very well, Max," was the reply. "What makes you ask?"

      "Oh, I see him put his hands by his head on so many dimes," said Max. "He got knocked owit, didn't he?"

      "Yes, a rascal hit him over the head with a wooden footstool and nearly cracked his skull."

      "Den he should be py der hospital, yah, instead of py college," said the German-American student.

      "Well, maybe they'll have to take him to the hospital, or somewhere," returned Songbird, thoughtfully. "Hang it all, with Dick gone and Tom acting as he does, times are not half as jolly as they used to be!"

      In the next room Sam sat down to study. Tom had wanted to study, too, but his brother had persuaded him to lie down and rest, and now he was asleep and breathing heavily. Sam tiptoed his way across the room to gaze at him.

      "Poor, poor Tom!" he murmured softly. "He'll have to take it easy. If he tries to keep up here it may kill him, or – " Sam did not finish. It was a terrorizing thought to imagine that Tom might go out of his mind. "He's got to have a doctor – some specialist. I'm glad Dick is coming, so we can talk it over. But it's too bad to burden Dick with this – and Dora, too – when they aren't over their honeymoon yet. Oh, dear, it's too bad Pelter threw that footstool at Tom!"

      Tom continued

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