Part 29 (2/2)
”Well, I've written a few little verses, Tom. Would you like to hear them?”
”Sure!” cried the fun-loving Rover, and then Songbird commenced to recite:
”I spread my wings on the balmy air, And float and float I know not where.
I rise, I fall, I fall, I rise, For I am monarch of the skies!”
”Bang up, Songbird! Couldn't be better!” cried Tom. ”Give us another dip, like the small boy said of the ice-cream.” And the would-be poet continued:
”I rush along when skies are blue, And when it hails I sail right through!
I feel----”
”Hold on, Songbird! You've got to change that line. We didn't sail right through when it hailed--we came down just as quickly as we could.”
”Oh, that's only a figure of speech,” answered the would-be poet loftily, and then he continued:
”I feel I can sail anywhere, For I am monarch of the air!”
”Good for you!” put in Sam, who was present. ”For A, No. 1, first-grade poetry apply to Songbird every time.”
”There are sixteen verses in all,” went on the poet, eagerly. ”The next one begins----”
”Sorry, there goes the supper bell!” interrupted Tom. ”Come on, we've got to eat, even if we miss the finest poem in the universe.”
”I--er--I didn't hear any bell,” answered Songbird.
”You didn't?” cried Tom, innocently. ”Well! well! Come on in and see anyway!” And he dragged the would-be poet along and forced him into a crowd of students. ”Guess I was mistaken,” he said soberly. ”Too bad!”
And off he, ran, and Sam ran after him.
”Well, it wasn't half bad,” said the youngest Rover.
”That's true, Sam,” returned Tom, and then he added with a sudden broad grin: ”But how about an egg that was only half bad--would you want to eat it? Some day Songbird may write real poetry--but not yet.”
It was now ideal football weather and the football elevens, the regular and the scrub, were out daily for practice. d.i.c.k and Tom had been asked to play but both had declined, for they wished to pay attention to their studies, and the biplane took up all their spare time. Sam played a little on the scrub, but soon gave it up.
During those days d.i.c.k was more serious than usual, and neither Tom nor Sam bothered their elder brother. They knew he was thinking of his engagement to Dora, and also worrying over the business affairs of their father and their Uncle Randolph.
One day Tom and Sam took a short trip in the biplane and persuaded Stanley to go with them, and the next day they took out Spud. But n.o.body else of their chums cared to go.
”A new arrival to-morrow!” cried Sam, one evening. ”Just from a trip to Paris, too.”
”Is it William Philander Tubbs?” queried Tom, looking up from the theme he was writing.
”You've struck it, Tom. Since you wrote to him about the socks he has been over to Paris. But he gets back to the grind to-morrow--comes in on the four-thirty train.”
”Say, let us get up a reception in William's honor!” cried the fun-loving Rover; and as soon as the theme was finished he began to arrange his plans.
<script>