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, And isn't he mad! Gee whizz!" The doggerel, gotten up on the spur of the moment, struck the fancy of fully a score of boys, big and little, and in an instant all were singing it over and over again, at the top of their lungs, and at this those who did not sing began to laugh uproariously.
"I say, what's it all about ?" demanded Tom, as he slid from the turning-bar.
"Songbird Powell has composed a comic opera in Tubby's honor," answered Larry Colby, one of the Rover boys' chums.

"I guess he's going to have it put on the stage after the holidays, with Tubby as leading man." "See here, I won't have this!" roared the rich youth, waving his hand wildly first at one boy and then another.

"I don't want you to make up any songs about me." "Songbird won't charge you anything," put in Fred Garrison, another of the students.

"He's a true poet, and writes for nothing.