Before night nearly every student knew that Merriwell and Browning had fought a six-round, hard-glove contest to a draw, and it was generally said that the decision was fair. Evan Hartwick seemed to be the only witness of the fight who was dissatisfied. Roland Ditson had not been invited to see it, but he expressed a belief that Browning would prove the better man in a fight to a finish.
Several weeks slipped by.
After the glove contest Browning had very little to say about the freshman leader. Whenever he did say anything, it was exactly what he thought, and it was noted that he admitted Merriwell to be a comer.
Evan Hartwick could not crush down his powerful dislike for Merriwell. He admitted to Bruce that he felt an almost irresistible desire to strike the cool freshman whenever they met.
"I wouldn't advise you to do it, my boy," lazily smiled Browning, who was growing fat again, now that he was no longer in training. "He is a bad man to hit."
"It depends on what he is hit with," returned Hartwick, grimly. "You made a fool of yourself when you failed to break his wrist, after paying twenty-five toadskins to learn the trick. That would have made you the victor."
"And it would have made me feel like a contemptible sneak. I have been well satisfied with myself that I did not try the trick. It is a good thing to know, but it should be used on no one but a ruffian."
"It's surprising to me how soft you're getting. This Merriwell is dangerous in many directions, and his career would have been stopped short if you had broken his wrist. He has shown that he is a baseball pitcher, but no man can pitch with a broken wrist. He is one of the best freshmen half-backs ever seen at Yale, according to the general acknowledgment. And now he is pulling an oar and coaching the freshmen crew at the same time—something never attempted before—something said to be impossible. Where would he be if you had broken his wrist?"
"He could coach the freshmen just the same, and the very fact that he can do all these things makes me well satisfied that I did not fix him so he couldn't."
"Wait! wait! What if the freshmen beat us out at Lake Saltonstall? What if they come out ahead of us?"
"They won't."
"I know the fellows are saying they will not, but I tell you this Merriwell is full of tricks, and there is no telling what he may do with the fresh crew. He is working them secretly, and our spies report that he seems to know his business."
"Well, if he makes them winners he will deserve the credit he will receive. But he can't do it. No man can coach a crew and pull an oar at the same time. The very fact that he is attempting such a thing shows he isn't in the game."
"Don't be so sure. They say he has a substitute who takes his place in the boat sometimes, and that gives him a chance to see just how the crew is working."
"Rats! Who ever heard of such a thing! Merriwell is all right, but he doesn't know anything about rowing. He may think he knows, but he is fooling himself."
"Well, we will have to wait and see about that."
"I really believe you are afraid of Merriwell. Why—ha! ha! ha!—you are the only one who has an idea the freshmen will be in the race at all."
"I know it, but few have had any idea that the freshmen could do any of the things they have done. They have fooled us right along, and—"
"Oh, say! Give me a cigarette and let's drop it. From the way you talk I should say you would make a good sporting editor for a Sunday-school paper."
"That's all right," muttered Hartwick, sulkily, as he tossed Bruce a package of Turkish cigarettes. "Wait and see if I am not right."
After this Bruce went about telling all the sophomores what Hartwick thought, and urging them to "jolly him" whenever they could get a chance. As a result Evan was kept in hot water the most of the time, but he persisted in claiming that the freshmen were bound to give them a surprise.
One evening a jolly party gathered in Browning and Hartwick's rooms. Cigarettes were passed around, and soon the smoke was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"How are the eggs down where you are taking your meals now, Horner?" asked Puss Parker.
"Oh, they are birds!" chirped little Tad, who was perched on the back of a chair, with his cap on the side of his head.
This produced a general laugh, and Parker said:
"Speaking of birds makes me think that riches hath wings. I dropped seventy-five in that little game last night."
Punch Swallows groaned in a heartrending way.
"That's nothing," he said, dolefully. "I lost a hundred and ten last week, and I've been broke ever since. Wired home for money, but the gov didn't respond. After that game all I could think of was two pairs, three of a kind, bobtail flushes, and so on. I made a dead flunk at recitations for two days. The evening after I lost my roll I was to attend a swell affair up on Temple Street. I was in a rocky condition, and I took something to brace me up, for I knew there would be pretty girls there, and I wouldn't have missed it for anything. The memory of that horrible game was still with me, and whenever my mind wandered I was thinking of jack pots and kindred things. Well, I went to the party, and there were plenty of queens there, but I didn't seem to enjoy myself, for some reason. I fancied it possible they might smell my breath, and that worried me. I thought I would go off by myself, and so I wandered into a little room where I imagined I would be alone, but hanged if I didn't run into the hostess and a stack of ladies. Then, with my mind confused, I made a fool of myself. 'Er—er—excuse me,' I stammered; 'what room is this?' 'This is the anteroom, sir,' replied the hostess. 'What's the limit?' says I, as I fumbled in my pocket. Then I took a tumble to myself and chased out in a hurry. I saw the girls staring after me as if they thought me crazy. It was awful."
"Oh, well, you mustn't mind the loss of a few dollars," said Andy Emery. "A man can make a fortune in this country picking up chips—if he puts them on the right card."
"Put a little perfumery on that before you use it again, Emery," grinned Tad Horner. "It's got whiskers."
"I think Swallows all right, but he reminds me of a man I knew once on a time. I haven't seen Swallows when he had over twenty-five at a time since he's been here, and still he says he dropped a hundred and ten in one game."
"How about this man you knew?" asked Parker.
"He was a great fellow to stretch the long bow, and it became such a habit that he could not break it. He seemed to prefer a falsehood to the truth, even when the truth would have served him better. Well, he died and was buried. One day I visited the cemetery and gazed on his tombstone. On the top of the stone was his name and on the bottom were these words: 'I am not dead, but sleeping.' Now that man was lying in his grave, for his habit—"
Parker flung a slipper at Emery, who dodged it. The slipper struck Tad Horner and knocked him off the back of the chair.
"That's all right," said Swallows, nodding at Emery, who was laughing. "I'll square that the first chance I get."
"Do! But when you get a roll, remember there are Others who are looking for you."
"Drop this persiflage and come down to business," said Browning, winking at the others and nodding toward Hartwick, who did not seem to be taking any interest in what was going on. "Let's talk about the races."
"Yas, by Jawve!" drawled Willis Paulding, who tried to be "deucedly English" in everything. "Let's talk about the races, deah boys. That's what interests me, don't yer know."
Hartwick squirmed. He knew what was coming, and still his disposition was such that he could not resist a "jolly" in case the jolliers expressed opinions that did not agree with his own.
Browning enjoyed seeing the gang get Hartwick on a string, and he was ever ready to aid anything of the kind along. By nature the king of sophomores was a practical joker. He had put up more jobs than any man who ever entered Yale. That was what had given him his reputation.
"I understand the freshmen are rapidly coming to the front," observed Hod Chadwick, with apparent seriousness.
"Is that right?" asked Parker. "Heard anything new?"
"Why, they say this Merriwell has the genuine Oxford system."
"Where'd he get it?"
"He has been abroad. It is even reported that he has studied at Oxford. He has watched the work of the Oxford coach, and he is working the freshmen eight on the same lines."
"That's right—that's right," nodded Hartwick, and the boys winked at each other.
"How do you know it is right?" asked Emery. "What do you know about Merriwell?"
"I know he has been abroad, and I have it straight that he spent considerable time at Oxford."
"That's nothing. Any lubber might watch the work at Oxford, but what would that amount to?"
"Merriwell is no lubber, as you fellows should know by this time."
"We don't seem to know much of anything about him. Who are his parents? What about them?"
"I hear his father was drowned in bed," murmured Tad Horner.
"By Jawve!" exclaimed Willis Paulding. "How could that happen?"
"There was a hole in the mattress, and he fell through into the spring," gravely assured Tad.
Willis nearly lost his breath.
"That's all wrong," said Browning. "It's true Merriwell is no lubber. Why should he be? His father was a skipper."
"What! A sea captain?" asked Hartwick.
"No, a bank cashier. He skipped to Canada."
"Wow!" whooped Tad Horner. "How that hurt! Don't do it again!"
"You fellows have things twisted," asserted Parker, with apparent seriousness. "I have private advices that Merriwell's father is a poor dentist."
"A poor dentist, eh?"
"Yes, rather poor, but he manages to pull out."
Tad Horner fell off the back of his chair and struck sprawling on the floor.
"Water!" he gasped.
"You wouldn't know it if you saw it," grinned Parker.
"Without a doubt and without any fooling, Merriwell's father is dead," said Hod Chadwick.
"Do you know this for a fact?" asked Swallows.
"Yes. It is said that he died on the field."
"Then he was a soldier?"
"No; a baseball umpire."
"This is a very dry crowd," laughed Browning.
"I should think you would say something," hinted Chadwick.
"It isn't in the house. We'll go down to Morey's after supper settles and I'll blow."
"To fizz?"
"Not this evening. Ale is good enough for this crowd."
"Oh, I don't suppose we can kick at that. But we were speaking about Merriwell and the freshman crew. How are we to escape death at their hands?"
"Have another cigarette all around," invited Parker as he passed them.
"That's too slow, but I'll take a cigarette just the same."
Hartwick got up and walked about in a corner, showing nervousness. They urged him to sit down and take things easy. He felt like making a break and getting out, but he knew they would roar with laughter if he did.
"You fellows are a lot of chumps!" he exclaimed, suddenly getting angry. "You treat this matter lightly now, but you are likely to change your tune after the race."
The boys were well satisfied, for they saw he was getting aroused.
"Oh, I don't know as we treat it so very lightly," said Emery. "We've got to have our fun, no matter what we may think."
"But every one of you is of the opinion that we are going to have a cinch with the freshmen."
"It does look easy."
"Have they been easy thus far?"
"Oh, that's different."
"You will find this is different when it is all over."
"Now, see here, Hartwick," said Parker; "you are the only soph who does not think we have a soft thing with the freshmen. What's the matter with you?"
"Why, he wants to disagree with us, that's all," said Browning. "Why, he wouldn't eat anything if he thought it would agree with him. That's the kind of a man he is."
Hartwick looked disgusted.
"Keep it up! keep it up!" he cried. "But you'll find out!"
"Now, see here, man," said Parker once more; "are you stuck on Merriwell?"
Hartwick showed still greater disgust, his eyes flashing.
"Stuck on him!" he cried. "Well, not any! You fellows ought to know that! Stuck on him! That gives me pains!"
"Well, I couldn't see what ailed you unless you were."
"It is because I am not stuck on him that I am so anxious to beat him, as you fellows ought to be able to see."
"Oh, that's it? Excuse me! Well, now, how is he going to make a lot of lubberly freshies beat us?"
"He's found some men who can pull oars all right, and he has introduced a few innovations that will be surprises."
"How do you know so much about it?"
"I have been investigating, and I am not the only one."
"Well, what are his innovations?"
"The Oxford oar, in the first place."
"What is that?"
"Two to four inches longer than our oar, with a blade five and one-half inches wide, instead of seven inches."
"For goodness' sake, what is the advantage of such an oar?"
"I'll tell you. With a short course and high stroke no set of men are strong enough to use the old oar and go the distance without weakening. You must admit that."
"Well?"
"With the narrow blades a longer oar can be used and the leverage increased. That is plain enough."
The boys were silent for some moments. Here was a matter they had not considered, and they were forced to confess that it was a point for discussion.
"But that is not enough to enable the freshmen to win, even admitting the English oar to be better, which has not been proven," said Emery.
"By Jawve! I am rather inclined to believe the English oar is superior, don't yer know," put in Willis Paulding.
"That's not surprising in your case," said Emery.
"That's not all Merriwell has done," declared Hartwick.
"What else has he done?"
"He has introduced the Oxford style of catch, finish and length of strokes, which means a longer swing, with more leg and body work."
"Well, that will cook 'em!" cried Tad Horner. "If he has done that, we'll make a show of those greenies."
"What reason have you for thinking anything of the sort?"
"Every reason. The regular Yale stroke cannot be improved upon. That is beyond question."
Hartwick smiled wearily.
"That's what I call conceit," he said. "You don't know whether it can be improved upon or not."
There was an outburst of protests by the boys, who believed, as almost every Yale man believes, that Yale methods are correct and cannot be improved upon. Hartwick was regarded as disloyal, and all felt like giving it to him hot.
"A longer body swing is certain to make a difficult recovery," said Browning. "That is plain enough."
"Not if the men are worked right and put in proper form," declared Hartwick. "I have been told that the English long stroke and recovery is very graceful and easy, and that it does not wear on a man like the American stroke."
"By Jawve! I think that's right, don't yer know," said Paulding.
"What you think doesn't count," muttered Tad Horner.
"With such a stroke and swing the men are bound to recover on their toes," asserted Browning.
"Oh, rats!" said Punch Swallows. "What does that amount to, anyway, in a case like this? We are talking of this tub load of freshmen as if they were the 'Varsity crew. What's the use? It won't make any difference what kind of a stroke they use. They are mighty liable to use several different kinds, and they won't be in it at all, my children. Let's go down to Morey's and oil up."
"Go ahead," said Hartwick, grimly. "But you will think over what I have said after the race comes off."
The boys put on their caps and trooped out, laughing and talking as they went.
"Harry!"
"Hello!"
"You've got to stop smoking those confounded cigarettes."
Harry Rattleton let his feet fall with a thump from the table on which they had been comfortably resting and turned about to stare at Merriwell, his roommate. His face expressed astonishment, not unmingled with anger.
"Will you be good enough to repeat that remark?" he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke and holding his roll daintily poised in his fingers.
"I said that you must stop smoking cigarettes."
"Well, what did you mean?"
"I am in the habit of saying what I mean," was the quiet answer as Frank scanned the paper over which he had been pondering for some time.
Harry got upon his feet, shoved one hand into his trousers pocket, and stared in silence for some seconds at Merriwell. That stare was most expressive.
"Well, may I be jotally tiggered—I mean totally jiggered!" he finally exclaimed.
"You'll be worse than that if you keep on with those things," asserted Frank. "You'll be totally wrecked."
"This is the first time you have had the crust to deliberately tell me that I must do anything," growled Harry, resentfully. "And I feel free to say that I don't like it much. It is carrying the thing altogether too far. I have never told you that you must do this thing or you mustn't do that. I should have considered that I was beddling with something that was none of my misness—er—meddling with something that was none of my business."
Frank perceived that his roommate was quite heated, so he dropped the paper and said:
"Don't fly off the handle so quick, old man. I am speaking for your own good, and you should know it."
"Thank you!" sarcastically.
"But I am in earnest."
"Really?" and Rattleton elevated his eyebrows.
"Come now," said Frank, "sit down and we will talk it over."
"Talk it over, eh? I don't know why we should talk over a matter that concerns me alone."
"Your dinner did not set well. I never saw you so touchy in all my life. You know I am your friend, old man, and there is no reason why you should show such a spirit toward me."
"I don't like to be told what I must do and what I mustn't by anybody. That's all there is about it."
Harry did sit down, but he lighted a fresh cigarette.
"Well, I suppose you will have your own way, but I want to explain why I said what I did. You know we are out to beat the sophs in the boat race."
"Sure."
"Well, in order to do it every man of us must be in the pink of condition. You are not drinking, and Old Put doesn't know how much you are smoking. If he did he would call you down or drop you. It is pretty certain that Gordon would take your place."
"Well, I suppose you are going to tell Old Put all about it? Is that what you mean?"
"Not exactly. But you know I have as much interest in the makeup of our crew as Old Put, although he is the man who really has charge of us."
"Well?"
"If I were to say so, you would be taken out and some one else would fill your place."
"And would you do that?"
"Not unless forced to do so. You should know, Harry, that I am ready to stick by you in anything—if I can."
"If you can! I don't understand that—hang me, if I do! If I have a friend I am going to stick to him through anything, right or wrong!"
"That's first rate and it is all right. If you get into any trouble, I fancy you will not find anybody who will stand by you any longer. But this matter is different. You are in training, and you are not supposed to smoke at all, but you get here in this room and puff away by the hour."
"What harm does it do?"
"A great deal."
"Get out! It doesn't make a dit of bifference."
"That's what you think, but I know better. At Fardale I had a chum who smoked cigarettes by the stack. He was a natural-born athlete, but he never seemed quite able to take the lead in anything. It was his wind. I talked to him, but he thought I didn't know. Finally I induced him to leave off smoking entirely. He did it, though it was like taking his teeth. It was not long before he showed an improvement in his work. The improvement continued and he went up to the very top. He acknowledged that he could not have accomplished it if he had kept on with his cigarettes.
"Now, old man," continued Frank, coming over and putting a hand on Harry's shoulder in a friendly way, "I am interested in you and I want to see you stay on our crew. You must know that I am giving it to you straight."
Harry was silent, gazing down at the floor, while his cigarette was going out, still held between his fingers.
"I am going to tell you something that you do not know," Frank went on. "Old Put has been asking me to give Gordon more of a show. He thinks Gordon is a better man than you, but I know better. If you will leave cigarettes alone you are the man for the place. Gordon has a beautiful back and splendid shoulders, but he lacks heart, or I am much mistaken. It takes nerve to pull an oar in a race. A man has got to keep at it for all there is in him till he drops—and he mustn't drop till the race is over. That's why I want you. I am confident that you will pull your arms out before you give up. But you won't have the wind for the race unless you quit cigarettes, and quit them immediately."
Harry was still silent, but his head was lower and he was biting his lips. The cigarette in his fingers had quite gone out.
"Come now, Harry," came earnestly from Frank. "Just cut clear from the things. They never did any man any good, and they have taken the wind and nerve out of hundreds. You don't want me to keep you on the crew and lose the race by doing so. You don't want it said that I have been partial to you because you are my roommate and particular friend. That's what will be said if things go wrong. The fellows will declare I was prejudiced against Gordon, and they will not be to blame unless you can prove yourself the best man. I have nothing against Gordon, and I am bound to use him as white as I can. I have explained why I don't want him on the crew, and I have tried to make it clear why I'll have to let him come on at once, unless you drop cigarettes. How is it, my boy? What do you say?"
Harry got up and went into the bedroom. A moment later he came out with a big package of cigarettes in his hands. He opened the window and flung them as far as possible.
"There!" he cried. "By the mumping Joses—I mean the jumping Moses! I'm done with 'em. I'm not going to smoke them any more!"
"Good boy!" laughed Frank, his face full of satisfaction. "Shake!"
They clasped hands.
Rat-tat-tat! A knock at the door.
"Come in."
The door opened and Dismal Jones, his face longer and sadder than usual, came slouching into the room.
"Hello, Jones, old boy!" cried Frank, cheerfully. "What is troubling you now? You look like a funeral."
"I'm mad," said Dismal in a spiritless way.
"Is that what ails you? I'd never suspected it from your appearance."
"Appearances are oftentimes deceitful," croaked Jones. "Whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise."
"Well, sit down and tell us all about it," invited Frank, offering a chair. "My boy, it must be that you are studying too hard. You have the outward appearance of a greasy grind."
"What's that I just told you about appearances? You are too hasty in your judgments. The trouble with me this evening is that I have found out something."
"I never supposed it would trouble you like this."
"Wait. You do not know what it is."
"That's right. What is it?"
Frank was familiar with Dismal's queer ways, and he knew it was not easy to tell when this son of a "shouting Methodist" was jollying and when he was in earnest; but now he was convinced that Jones was really serious, and he felt that there must be some cause for it.
Harry, strangely sobered and silent, sat listening. He could not understand Jones, and he was on his guard, knowing how often the fellow turned into a farce what seemed a serious matter.
Dismal locked his fingers and twiddled his thumbs. He cleared his throat and then said:
"Merry, what would you say if I were to tell everything I could find out about our crew to the sophs?"
"I should say you were a confounded sneak!"
"Hum! I kinder thought you'd say something like that."
"But you do not know too much about the crew."
"I know something, and I could know more if I had a mind to. All I would have to do would be to play the spy a little."
"Well, I suppose that is right. What about it?"
"Somebody is playing the spy."
"How do you know?"
"I've got it straight enough, for the sophs know all about what our crew is doing. They are laughing over the Oxford stroke and the English oars."
"How do you know this?"
"Heard 'em."
"When?"
"To-night."
"Where?"
"On the street. Browning and a party were going down to Morey's, and they were having a high old time with Hartwick, who was explaining the advantages of the stroke and the oars our crew has adopted."
"That's not proof that somebody has played the spy. It may have slipped out through the carelessness of some of our men."
"It may. But I don't think so. I heard Emery ask Hartwick how he knew so much about us."
"What did Hartwick say?" Frank eagerly asked.
"He said he had a nice fresh flat who thought it a fine thing to play the spy and blab all he found out."
"Blay bluses—I mean blue blazes!" cried Harry, banging his fist down on the table. "That's what makes me cot under the hollar! A man who would do a thing like that will steal a sheep! I'd like to have the pleasure of thumping him a few times—just a few!"
Merriwell was silent, a dark look on his face.
"It will not be healthy for the spy if I catch him," he finally declared. "I'll make it pretty hot for him around here!"
"Which would be a highly commendable action," bowed Dismal.
"Have you any idea who would do such a low-down thing?" asked Harry.
"Sometimes we have ideas which we do not care to express."
"That's right; but in a case like this—confidentially—to us, you know—"
"Well, if I say anything, it is to be strictly confidential."
"Sure!" cried Frank and Harry in a breath.
"You both give me your word for it?"
"We do."
"If I knew, I would not hesitate to come out openly and accuse the fellow," said Dismal; "but this is merely a case of suspicion, and I will tell you who I suspect."
"Go ahead."
"Well, there is a certain fellow who has not been above playing into the hands of the sophs in the past, and it is natural for me to suspect him. His name is—"
The door opened, and Roland Ditson came in without knocking.
"Hello, fellows!" cried Ditson. "How are yer, Jones! I am surprised to see you here. Is it possible you have let up cramming long enough to make a call? Why, I have even heard that you had your eye on some classical scholarship prize as soon as this. Everybody who knows you says you're a regular hard-working old dig."
"There are fools who know other people's business a great deal better than their own," said Dismal stiffly.
"That's right," nodded Ditson, who made a great effort to be rakish in his appearance, but always appeared rather foxy instead. "But I tell you this matter of burning the midnight oil and grinding is not what it's cracked up to be. It makes a man old before his time, and it doesn't amount to much after he has been all through it. Goodness knows we freshmen have to cram hard enough to get through! I am tired of it already. And then we have to live outside the pale, as it were. When we become sophs we'll be able to give up boarding houses and live in the dormitories. That's what I am anxious for."
"It strikes me that you are very partial to sophs," said Dismal, giving Roll a piercing look.
Ditson was not fazed.
"They're a rather clever gang of fellows," he said. "Freshmen are very new, as a rule. Of course there are exceptions, and—"
"I suppose you consider yourself one?"
"Oh, I can't tell about that. But supposing I am; by the time I become a soph some of the newness will have worn off."
"I am not particularly impressed with any freshman who seems to think so much of sophomores. You ought to stay with them all the time."
"Oh, I don't know. They have treated me rather well, and I have found the most of them easy people."
"They seem to have found some freshman easy fruit. Somebody has been blowing to them about our crew."
"I know it," was Ditson's surprising confession, "and that's why I dropped in here. I wanted to tell Merriwell about it."
Jones gasped for breath. He was too surprised to speak for some minutes.
Ditson took out a package of cigarettes, offering them first to Harry, who shook his head.
"What?" cried Roll, amazed. "You won't smoke?"
"No."
"What's that mean?"
"I have left off," said Harry, with an effort.
"Left off? Oh, say! that's too good! You leave off!"
A bit of color came to Rattleton's face, and he gave Ditson a look that was not exactly pleasant; but Roll was too occupied with his merriment to observe it.
Frank was studying Ditson. He watched the fellow's every movement and expression.
Roll knew it was useless to offer cigarettes to Merriwell or Jones, so he selected one from the package, kneaded it daintily, pulled a little tobacco from the ends, moistened the paper with his lips, and then lighted it with a wax match.
"Say, Harry, old man, I pity you," he said, with a taunting laugh, looking at Harry. "I've tried it. It's no use. You'll break over before two days are up—yes, before one day is up. It's no use."
Rattleton bit his lips.
"Why, you are dying for a whiff now!" chuckled Ditson. "I know you are. I got along a whole day, but it was a day of the most intense torture."
"There may be others with more stamina than you, Ditson," snapped Rattleton. "Just because you couldn't leave off a bad habit, it's no sign that nobody can."
"Oh, I suppose not. But what's the use? Don't get hot, old man. You ought to know my way by this time."
"I do."
"What is it that you came to tell me?" asked Frank.
"Eh? Oh, about the sophs. Those fellows seem to know more about our crew than I do."
"What do they know?"
"Why, they know our men are using English oars, have adopted a new stroke, and have done several other things. Now, those are matters on which I was not informed myself."
"How do you know the sophs know so much?"
"I've just come from Morey's. Went in there with Cressy. Fine fellow, he is. While I was in there Browning and his crowd wandered in. They were drinking ale and discussing the race. I heard what they were saying. Couldn't help hearing, you know. They were talking about our crew and the new methods you had introduced. It was mighty interesting to me, as I didn't know about those new methods myself."
"How innocent!" muttered Jones.
Ditson elevated his eyebrows.
"What's that?" he demanded. "Why shouldn't I be innocent? I am not on the crew, and the men are training and practicing secretly. I have had no way of finding out what they were doing."
"But some sneak has!" cried Rattleton, fiercely, "and he's been and blowed all he found out!"
"Unless somebody on the crew has done the blowing," suggested Roll, exhaling a great puff of smoke. "That is barely possible, you understand."
"Possible! No!" cried Frank. "There's not a man on the crew who would do such a thing!"
"Oh, well, I suppose you know. But I understand there are two who are kept in form as substitutes. One of them thinks he should be on the crew. He is rather jealous of somebody who fills his place. He might be the one who has talked too much."
"You don't mean—"
"Rattleton ought to be able to guess who I mean," craftily said Ditson as he arose. "I'm not calling names, for I don't know anything certain. If I had proof—but I haven't. Never mind. You ought to know enough to watch a certain fellow who thinks his place is filled by a person not his equal. He says there is favoritism in the matter. I rather think I have spoken plainly enough. Wish you success, Merry, old man. Evening, fellows."
Ditson departed.
Our hero, Rattleton and Jones sat and looked at each other in grim silence for several minutes.
"Well?"
Frank broke the spell, looking keenly at Jones as he spoke.
"I dunno," mumbled Dismal, falling into the manner of speaking that had been habitual with him from his childhood. "I dunno—hanged if I do!"
"You thought you knew when you came in, my boy."
"That's right; but I dunno but I was off my trolley. And still—"
"Still what?"
"I don't like the man I suspected, but I never thought the fellow shrewd enough to play a double game."
"Perhaps it is because you do not like him that you suspected him."
"Oh, it may be—it may be. And I don't suppose that is a square deal. I didn't have absolute proof."
"You were going to name him when Ditson came in."
"I was, but I will not call any names now. I propose to look into this matter somewhat. Likely it's too late to prevent the traitor from completing the damage, but he can be exposed. It will be some satisfaction to see him held up to public scorn."
"That is true, Dismal, and I want you to do your best to find out who the man is. Make a sure thing of it. Get positive proof, if possible."
"Whoever he is his sin is sure to find him out."
There were footsteps on the stairs and the sound of laughing voices. The door burst open and several freshmen came trooping in, as if they felt quite at home there. Lucy Little was at their head, and his face showed excitement.
"I say, Merriwell!" he cried, "are you out for a little sport to-night?"
"That depends on what sort of sport it is."
"'Sh!" said Little, mysteriously. "Close the door, uncle."
A fellow by the name of Silas Blossom, who was familiarly called "uncle," obeyed.
Little looked at Rattleton and then stared hard at Jones, who had the face of a parson.
"I don't know about you," he said, "but I think you are all right. Even if you have scruples I don't believe you will blow."
"Very kind!" grunted Dismal.
"The rest of the gang is all right," said Little.
"Then give us your scheme," spluttered Harry, whose curiosity was thoroughly aroused. "Don't bush around the beat—I mean beat around the bush."
"What do you fellows say to a turkey chase?" asked Little.
"A turkey chase?"
"Yes. Out around West Rock way. There are plenty of old farmers who have good fat turkeys out that way. It is a good cool night, and we can capture two turkeys without trouble. Then we'll take 'em in here and have a roast. Are you wid us?"
"Those who are not wid us are agin' us!" fiercely declared Bandy Robinson.
"And that is dead right, me b'hoys," nodded Arthur Street, who was known at Yale as Easy Street, on account of his free-and-easy way.
Merriwell hesitated. He was in for any kind of honest sport, but he did not quite fancy the idea of stealing turkeys.
"Why don't we buy our turkeys at the markets?" he asked.
The other lads stared at him in astonishment.
"Buy them!" they shouted. "Say, are you dafty, man? Where would the fun come in? You know better than to propose such a thing."
"Stolen fruit is ever the sweetest," quoth Uncle Blossom. "It's not many fellows we would take into such a scheme, but you were just the man we wanted, Merriwell. If we bought a turkey we wouldn't have any appetite for it. Now, the run out into the country and back will give us an appetite. One fellow will have to stay here and get the fire ready, while the rest of us chase turks. Come on, man—it's what you need to start your blood circulating."
Merriwell seemed to suddenly make up his mind.
"I am with you," he said as he arose. "Who stays and looks after the fire? We don't want anybody along that can't run."
"Well, I'm no sprinter," confessed Dismal. "I'd like to go along, but I'm afraid I'd peg out. I'll have things ready when you show up. But what time will you be back?"
Frank looked at his watch and then made a mental calculation.
"It will be about eleven," he said.
"All right."
"Say, Jones," said Street, "just go down to Billy's and get a few bottles of beer. We'll need it to wash the turk down."
"And cigars," cried Blossom. "Don't forget cigars. What would a turkey feast be without a smoke afterward?"
Matters were soon arranged, and it was not long before five freshmen left Mrs. Harrington's "quiet house" for freshmen, and started along York Street at a brisk, steady jog.
Merriwell took the lead, and the others came after him at regular distances. The night air was rather sharp, and there was a bright moon.
Along the streets of New Haven the five freshmen ran, and those who observed them supposed they were some crew in training.
Merriwell set a moderate pace, for he knew it was likely they would need all their wind on the return. There was no telling what sort of a scrape they might get into.
Rattleton was behind, taking things as easy as possible. He filled his lungs with the crisp, clear air, and it made him feel like a young race horse, but he held himself in check.
Street actually loafed along, although he managed to keep his place.
"If one of us is caught, he'll be like the gangplank of a steamer," called Harry as they left the main part of the city and entered the suburbs.
"How's that?" asked Blossom.
"Pulled in," chirped Rattleton. "Don't stop to throw anything this way. Keep right on."
"They say Browning was caught swiping turks in his freshman year," said Lewis, "and it cost his old man a round sum to settle and keep the thing quiet, so Bruce wouldn't be expelled. Dad Browning has got money to burn."
"Well, his son's a good match for him," Merriwell tossed over his shoulder.
"A good match for him! Oh, say!" gasped Robinson, exhibiting signs of sudden weakness.
Away they went, laughing and jesting, finally leaving the city behind and getting out into the country. Up hill and down dale they steadily jogged, covering mile after mile in a rather surprising manner.
At length Merriwell called a halt, and they held a council of war. Blossom said he knew where they were certain to find turkeys, and so they gave him the lead. He confessed that there was a chance of getting into trouble, as the owner of the turkeys had been robbed before, and he might be on the watch. That simply added zest to the adventure, and there was not one of the party who would have consented to look elsewhere for their turkeys.
They finally came in sight of a farmhouse that sat on the side of a hill. Near the house was a stable and sheds. A large orchard lay back of the sheds.
"There," said Blossom. "That is where old Baldwin lives, and his turks are in one of those sheds."
"Crumping jickets—I mean jumping crickets!" exclaimed Harry. "How bright the moon shines! If he's on the watch we can't get anywhere near those sheds without being seen."
The boys began to realize that they were engaged in a decidedly perilous adventure. If one of them should be caught it would mean almost certain expulsion from college, besides a heavy fine if the case were carried to court.
"We'll have to approach by way of the orchard," said Frank. "Does Baldwin keep a dog?"
"Sure—a big half-blood bull."
"That's nice. We are liable to find plenty of fun here. Every man must provide himself with a stout and heavy club to use on that dog in case of emergency. That is important. The lights are out, and it looks as if the farmer and his family were sleeping soundly, but, as Jones says, appearances are sometimes deceptive. We'll have to take our chances. Three of us will go through the orchard. The other two must get near the house in front and be ready to create a diversion in case we are discovered. Harry, you and Bandy take the front. You are both good runners. If Mr. Baldwin and his dog get after us, attract his attention in some manner."
"And get him after us?"
"That's the idea."
"Jupiter! I wish I had brought a gun for that dog! Bandy, you are liable to have to use those crooked legs of yours in a decidedly lively manner before the night is over."
When everything was arranged Harry and Bandy advanced along the road, going forward slowly, while Frank, Blossom and Little made a detour and came into the orchard.
The hearts of the boys were in their throats, and still there was something about the adventure that filled them with the keenest delight.
Each one had secured a club, and they were ready to give the dog a warm reception if he came for them.
Little watched beneath a tree, while Merriwell and Blossom slipped up to one of the sheds which had a favorable look.
In the meantime Rattleton and Robinson had got near the front of the house and were hiding in a ditch, waiting and listening.
"I am surprised that Merriwell should agree to take a hand in this," whispered Harry. "He is a queer chap—has scruples about doing certain things. I thought he would object to hooking out a turk."
"Oh, such a thing as this isn't really stealing," protested Robinson. "It is different."
"In our minds, but not in the mind of Farmer Baldwin, by a long shot. If we're caught it will be called stealing."
"Oh, well, a fellow who won't do anything like this is too good for this world. He's got wings sprouting."
"You know well enough that Merriwell is no softie," returned Harry, rather warmly. "He's proved that. Any man has a right to his ideas, and if he thinks a thing wrong he's justified in refusing to have anything to do with it."
"Perhaps so; but Merriwell is right on the limit now."
"How?"
"He will not drink, he does not smoke, and I never have heard him cuss."
"Does it make a fellow a man to drink and smoke and swear? I tell you you'll go a long distance before you find a fellow who is any more of a man than Frank Merriwell. I was dead lucky when I got him for a roommate."
"You're stuck on him. I say he is all right, but he is on the limit. I believe the fellows would like him better if he would break over once in a while."
"I doubt it. But it is awful still around here. I wonder where that dog can be? It would be a surprise if the fellows got away with the turks without making any noise at—"
There was a sudden hubbub, a terrible squalling and squawking, the barking of a dog, and the report of a gun!