rolled out of the station. The car was but half filled, so the lads had plenty of room in which to make themselves comfortable. Phil Lawrence stowed away his suit case in a rack overhead and settled down facing the others. He gave a yawn of satisfaction.
"I can tell you, it will feel good to get back to Oak Hall again," he observed. "You can't imagine how much I've missed the boys and the good times, even if I was laid up in bed with a broken head."
"You'll get a royal reception, Phil," said Dave. "Don't forget that when you went down you won the football game for us."
"Maybe I did, Dave, but you had your hand in winning, too, and so did Ben."
"Well, if the fellows Say, here comes Nat Poole." Dave lowered his voice. "I don't think he'll want to see me."
As Dave spoke, a tall, fastidiously dressed youth came down the car aisle. He was not bad-looking, but there was an air of dissipation about him that was not pleasant to contemplate. He wore a fur-trimmed overcoat and a cap to match, and heavy fur-lined gloves.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, on catching sight of Phil Lawrence. "Going back to the Hall, eh?"
"I am, and you are going back too, Nat, I suppose."
