narch 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. Dick 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 Dick 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 nobody
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