The Rover Boys in Alaska

"Well, here we are again, Tom, down to the grind of college life."

"That's right, Sam. Not so much fun as attending a wedding, is it?" And Tom Rover grinned broadly at his brother.

"We can't expect to go to weddings all the time," returned Sam Rover, a grin showing on his own face. "Wonder how Dick and Dora are making out," he mused.

"Oh, fine, you can be sure of that. Dora is just the girl for Dick."

"How do you like being back here, Tom?" and the youngest Rover looked anxiously at his brother.

Tom heaved a deep sigh before replying.

"To tell the truth, Sam, I wish I had stayed home a bit longer," he said slowly. "My head isn't just as clear as it might be. That whack Pelter gave me with that footstool was an awful one."

"It certainly was, and it's a wonder it didn't split your skull open. Maybe you'd better go back home for a rest."

"Oh, no, it isn't as bad as that. Sometimes I feel a bit dizzy, that's all. But I guess that will wear away, sooner or later. You see, I've been studying hard the last three days, trying to make up for lost time, and that is what's done it. I think I'll take it a bit easier after this, until I feel more like myself."

"Don't you think you had better see a doctor?"

"No, I've had the doctor fussing over me until I am tired of it. What I need is some fun, Sam. Can't you think of something? Whenever I try to concoct some sort of a joke it makes my head ache," and poor Tom, who loved to play pranks as much as ever, heaved another sigh.

"Let us take a long walk this afternoon, Tom. Maybe that will do your head some good. We can take Songbird and some of the others along."

"All right; anything to get out of the greasy grind of studying. My! don't I wish I was in Dick's place and didn't have to go to college any more!"

"Well, Dick's got his hands full with Dad's business. Those brokers left things in a perfect mess."

"I know it. But Dick will straighten things out-he's got a head for just that sort of thing." Tom took up a text book, glanced at it for a moment, and then threw it on the table. "No use, I can't study any more to-day. I'm going out on the campus. You come as soon as you are done and we'll take that walk."

"All right. Will you tell Songbird and whoever else you want to go along?"

"Yes," answered Tom, and without further words he took up his cap, heaved another deep sigh, and left the room. Sam watched his brother pass down the corridor of the college building and noted that he placed his hand to the back of his head and kept it there for some time.

"Poor Tom!" murmured the youngest Rover, as he turned again to the lesson he had been studying. "He tries to keep up a brave front, but that crack he got on the head some weeks ago was a worse one than most folks imagine. I'm thinking he ought to be home and under the doctor's care instead of trying to rack his brains making up lessons he missed while we were away."

Tom passed along the corridor until he had turned a corner and was out of sight of me room he and Sam occupied. Then he looked around to make certain that nobody was observing him. Both of his hands went up to the back of his head and he clenched his teeth hard.

"What is the matter with this old head of mine!" he murmured. "Sometimes I feel as if I had a regular windmill inside of it. And when I try to study it gets to be a regular blank. Something is wrong, that's certain. What is it?"

He stood in the corner of the corridor for several minutes, trying to pull himself together, mentally and physically. His face was still somewhat pale, from the suffering he had undergone, since the time a wooden footstool hurled by an enemy had hit him and knocked him unconscious.

"Rats! this won't do!" he finally exclaimed, and shaking himself, he hurried out of the building and on to the broad, velvety college campus.

Students were walking in various directions, going to, or coming from, classes and lectures. Many hailed him and he called out in return, or waved his hand. The Rover boys had a host of friends at Brill.

Presently Tom saw a tall, slim young man coming up, dressed in a light, checked suit, and wearing pointed patent-leather ties and a rose-colored cap. In the buttonhole of the student was a large carnation. Under his arm the approaching one carried half a dozen text books.

The face of the fun-loving Rover lighted up and for the time being the pain in his head was forgotten. His hand went down in a pocket, to feel for something, and then came forth again. Then he stepped forward and crooked out his elbow.

The other student was looking to one side as he came forward and he did not notice the elbow in his way. The elbow caught him in the ribs, causing him to give a grunt, and the armful of books were scattered on the walk.

"My gracious me!" gasped the stylishly-dressed youth. "What did you do that for, Tom Rover?"

"Sorry, Tubblets," answered Tom, making as sober a face as possible. "I didn't know you wanted the whole walk."

"You did that on purpose, Tom Rover, you know you did!"

"Did what on purpose, Tubby?"

"How many times must I tell you that my name is not Tubby or Tubblets. It is William Philander Tubbs, and I want you to call me by my right name after this."

"Very well, Mr. W. P. Washbasin-I mean Tubbs. I'll not forget again," and Tom made a low bow.

"And I don't want you to knock my books out of my arm again," went on William Philander, drawing himself up disdainfully.

"Your books, Willie?"

"Yes, my books," came wrathfully from the dudish student "And don't you dare to call me Willie. My name is--"

"Oh, yes, I remember now, Philugger."

"It's not Philugger, either. It is Wil--"

"Sure, I know, Philliam Tubbander Williams. Sorry I forgot before." And Tom looked truly sorrowful.

"Oh, you are simply horrid, that's what you are!" declared the stylishly-dressed student, in despair. "And my books are all covered with dirt!"

"I beg a million pardons," cried Tom, and started to pick the books up, one after another. As he did this one hand went again into that pocket before mentioned and, on the sly, he inserted a printed sheet of paper into each book. "Now you are all fixed, Tubbly," he added. "And you can run along to school like a nice little boy. But wait a moment till I fix your collar," he went on, as he turned the other youth around.

"What's the matter with my collar?" demanded the dudish student, suspiciously.

"Talcum powder, I guess. You mustn't use so much after this." And Tom commenced to brush the collar vigorously.

"I-er-I didn't use much-just a little for my nose, don't you know," answered William Philander Tubbs, who made much of his personal appearance.

Tom continued to brush the coat collar off with one hand, while unfolding a printed bill with the other. An advertising wagon had gone past the college grounds the day before, and from a fellow distributing handbills Tom had gotten a sheet telling of the merits of "Gumley's Red Pills for Red-Blooded People," and also some small bills relating to the same wonderful cure for many ills. The small sheets were in the books; the large sheet he now proceeded to place on William Philander's back, fastening it under the turned-down coat collar. There were a few specks of talcum powder on the coat collar, but not enough to have attracted any attention.

"Now you are all right, Tubbsky," said the fun-loving Rover. "My, but you certainly do know how to dress!" he added, in affected admiration.

"Ah, really?" lisped the dude "Thanks. But please don't knock my books down again," he added, and then proceeded on his way to one of the classrooms.

"Well, that makes me feel a little better," murmured Tom, and then he followed slowly, to watch the fun. He saw a number of students gather and all commenced to snicker at Tubbs, who, totally unconscious of what was taking place, marched on, holding his head erect.

"Wish it was my class, I'd like to see it out," mused Tom. "But never mind, I guess I'll hear about it later," and he turned back to the campus, to wait for Sam. As he did this, a queer pain shot through his head and he murmured a suppressed groan.

"If that keeps on I'll have to do as Sam says, go and see a doctor," he told himself. "Gosh, how queer I feel! Just as if I was getting batty!"

"Hullo, Tom!" came the salute from nearby, and looking in that direction the fun-loving youth saw another student coming up rapidly. "Sam just told me you were going to take a walk and asked me to go along."

"Yes, Songbird, we'll start as soon as Sam gets through with the lesson he's studying. How's the muse these days?"

"Oh, I'm not writing much poetry now," answered John Powell, otherwise known as Songbird, because of his efforts at composing verses. "I've got too much to do studying."

"Why don't you write a poem to the professors? Maybe they'd excuse you from recitations for it," and Tom smiled broadly.

"I-er-I did write one little poem about the lessons," answered the would-be poet. "It went like this:

"The student sat in his room in a chair

With a look on his face of keen despair;

Outside his chums were playing ball

And oft to him they sent a call.

He wanted to play with all his heart,

But from his books he could not part."

"Grand! Immense! You've struck the clothespin on the head the first clip!" cried Tom. "Any more of the same brand?"

"Well-er-I started the second verse, but I didn't get it finished. It went like this:

"He had a lesson hard to learn,

It made his heart with anguish burn;

He wanted to throw those books away

And rush outside and run and play

And so-and so-and so---"

And so he kept on grinding there,

Gnashing his teeth and pulling his hair,"

finished Tom. "I know, for I've been there. Really, Songbird, that's a dandy poem. You ought to have it framed and hung up in the gym."

"Do you really think so?" and the would-be poet looked pleased.

"I do. It would hit every fellow in Brill. And I think-What can that fellow want?" added Tom suddenly, as a messenger boy from the town came running up to him.

"Guess he's got a message for you," returned Songbird.

"For me? I trust it's no bad news," said Tom.