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4
THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS

an impatient exclamation, and passed into one of the four small bedrooms that opened out of the main study.

"I think I'll take a chance and go out!" he announced. "It's as dull as ditchwater in here. You fellows are about as cheerful as a wake."

"Um!" grunted Phil. Sid did not take the trouble to reply.

"That's right. Be grumpy!" said Tom, sarcastically.

Clearly the weather was getting on the nerves of all of them. And small wonder, for it had rained almost steadily for a week, and the stone piles that made up Randall College seemed soaked through to the very wall paper. The campus was like a sponge, and the walks, where they were not gravel, were ribbons of mud.

"Lucky we got our Spring games over with, before this flood set in," went on Tom.

There was no answer.

"What's the matter; have you fellows lost your tongues?" he demanded, sharply.

He paused in the act of slipping off a lounging coat preparatory to putting on an outdoor garment. Sid and Phil avoided his glance. At that moment the door into the hall opened and there stepped into the study a big lad, attired in a raincoat, that dripped moisture at every seam.