cheerfully, but finding it hard work. "Well, I'll say good-night, or, rather, good-morning. When I write home I must tell my folks about meeting you here."
"Yes, do. I've already written to mine, telling what a fine time I'm having."
Tom was rather thoughtful on his way home. He stumbled into his dark room, nearly falling over something.
"What's the matter?" asked Sid, who was in bed.
"That's what I want to know," replied Tom, striking a match. "Why don't you keep your patent leathers out of the middle of the floor?" he demanded.
"I did, Tommy, me lad, as Bricktop Molloy would say, but I had to throw them out there later."
"How's that?"
"Mice. Two of the cute little chaps sitting in the middle of the floor, eating some nuts that dropped out of my pocket. I stretched out on the bed without undressing when I came in from the dance, and must have fallen asleep, with the light burning. When I woke up I saw the mice staring at me, and I heaved my shoes at the beggars, for I'd taken 'em off—my shoes, I mean—when I came in, as my feet hurt from dancing so much. Then
