"Is there going to be anything to drink?" asked Dutton with a covert sneer.
"Lemonade," replied Dick promptly.
"Is that all? I should think a millionaire cadet like you would provide champagne; or at least beer."
"It's against the rules," said Dick.
"Then you'll have some cigars."
"No."
"Cigarettes then?"
"No."
"I suppose you'll give us malted milk and crackers," sneered Dutton, as he turned aside. "I don't think that will suit us. Eh, Stiver?"
"No indeed. I thought you wanted to be a sport, Hamilton?"
"I don't care about breaking rules," replied Dick. "Besides, I don't use tobacco or liquor."
"Ah, he's a regular Sunday school brand of millionaire," remarked Dutton, with a mean laugh. "He gives his money to the heathen, instead of buying cigars. Come on, Stiver."
At Dick's spread, that night, only a few freshmen came, and, though they tried to be jolly, the affair was a dismal failure, after the elaborate preparations that had been made. None of Dutton's friends came, and not a member of the sporting element.
"Dutton told 'em to stay away," said Paul, as he and Dick went to their room, after it was all over.
