The Rover Boys In the Mountains | Page 2

news, Tom," came from Sam Rover. "I've been fairly
aching for a skate ever since that cold snap of two weeks ago."
"We'll have to start up some skating matches if good skating does
really turn up," put in Dick Rover, who had just joined his two brothers
in the gymnasium attached to Putnam Hall. "Don't you remember those
matches we had last year?"
"Certainly, Dick," answered Tom Rover. "Didn't I win one of the silver
medals?"
"Gracious! but what a lot has happened since then," said Sam, who was
the youngest of the trio. "We've gotten rid of nearly all of our enemies,
and old Crabtree is in jail and can't bother Mrs. Stanhope or Dora any
more."
"We didn't get rid of Dan Baxter," remarked Dick. "He gave us the slip
nicely."
"Do you think he'll dare to bother us again, Dick?" questioned Sam
anxiously.
"I hope not, but I'm not certain, Sam. The Baxters are a bad lot, as all of
us know, and as Dan grows older he'll be just as wicked as his father,
and maybe worse."
"What a pity a fellow like Dan can't turn over a new leaf," came from
Tom Rover. "He's bright enough in his way, and would make a
first-rate chap."
"It's not in the blood," went on Dick. "We'll have to keep our eyes open,

that's all. If anything, Dan is probably more angry at us than ever, for
he believes we were the sole means of his father being put in prison."
"Old Baxter deserved all he got," murmured Sam.
"So he did."
"Well, if Dan Baxter ever bothers me he'll catch it warm," came from
Tom. "I shan't attempt to mince matters with him. Everybody at this
school knows what a bully he was, and they know, too, what a rascal
he's been since he left. So I say, let him beware!" And so bringing the
conversation to an end for the time being, Tom Rover ran across the
gymnasium floor, leaped up and grasped a turning-bar stationed there,
and was soon going through a number of exercises recently taught to
him by the new "gym" teacher.
"Gracious, but Tom is getting to be a regular circus gymnast!" cried
Sam, as he watched his brother in admiration. "Just see what beautiful
turns he is making."
"Humph! that aint so wonderful," came from someone at Sam's elbow,
and turning the youngest Rover found himself dose to Billy Tubbs, a
short, stocky youth who had entered Putnam Hall at the opening of the
fall term. Tubbs was a boy of rich parentage, and while he was not
particularly a bully, he considered himself of great importance and
vastly superior to the majority of his associates.
"All right, Tubby; if it isn't so wonderful, just you jump up and do it,"
returned Sam coldly.
"Look here, how many times have I told you not to call me Tubby!"
burst out the rich youth. "I don't like it at all."
"Then what shall we call you?" asked Sam innocently. "Tubblets?"
"No, I don't want you to call me Tubblets either. My name is
Tubbs--William Philander Tubbs."

"Gosh! Am I to say all that whenever I want to address you?"
demanded Sam, with a pretended gasp for breath.
"I don't see why you shouldn't. It's my name."
"But Tubby--I mean Tubblets--no, Willander Philliam Tubbs--the name
is altogether too long. Why, supposin' you were standing on a railroad
track looking east, and an express train was coming from the west at
the rate of seventy-five miles an hour, and it got to within a hundred
yards of you when I discovered your truly horrible peril, and I should
start to warn you of the aforesaid truly horrible peril, take my word for
it, before I could utter such an elongated personal handle as that, you'd
be struck and distributed along that track for a distance of a mile and a
quarter. No, Tubby, my conscience wouldn't allow it--really it
wouldn't." And Sam shook his head seriously.
"See here, what are you giving me?" roared Tubbs wrathfully. "Don't
you worry about my standing on a railroad track and asking you to call
me off." And then he added, with a red face, as a laugh went up from
half a dozen students standing near: "William Philander Tubbs is my
name, and I shan't answer to any other after this."
"Good for you Washtubs!" came from a boy in the rear of the crowd.
"I'd stick to that resolution, by all means, Buttertubs," came from the
opposite side of the crowd.
And then one older youth, who was given to writing songs, began to
sing softly:
"Rub-a-dub-dub! One man in a tub, And who do you think it is, It's
William Philander, Who's got up his dander,