friends of his; in fact, in the
past, they had been distinctly unfriendly. Dare he knew little about,
as they had never had much to do with each other. Sam Winslow was a
plebe, having entered the academy at the same time with Merriwell, but
Frank had never been able to determine whether he was "no good" or a
pretty decent sort of fellow.

Had Frank been governed by his first impression, he would have found an
excuse to bid that company good-night immediately, but he did not like
to do anything like that, for he knew it would cause them to designate
him as a cad, and he would be despised for doing so.

He had gone too far to back out immediately, so he resolved to stay a
while, and then get out as best he could.

At the window of the room blankets had been suspended, so no ray of
light could shine out into the night to betray the little party.

At a glance, Frank saw the room was not occupied by students, for it
contained nothing but the bare furniture, besides a box on the table,
and the assembled lads.

Bart saw Frank looking around, and divined his thoughts.

"I suppose you are wondering where you are? Well, this is the room in
which Cadet Bolt committed suicide. It has been closed ever since, as
no fellow will occupy it. It is said to be haunted."

This appealed to Frank's love of the sensational. Besides that, he
fancied he saw an opportunity for some sport that was not down in the
programme, and he smiled a bit.

"Of course it isn't haunted," he said. "I don't believe there is a
fellow here who believes in ghosts?"

"I don't."

"Nor I."

"Nor I."

"Such stuff is rot!"

"I don't believe in anything I can't see."

Thus the assembled lads expressed themselves, and Frank smiled again.

"While I do not believe this room is haunted," he said, "I once had a
rather blood-curdling experience with something like a disembodied
spirit--an adventure that came near turning my hair snowy white from
fright and horror. I will tell you about it. The original of my ghost
happened to be a fellow who committed suicide, and he----"

"Say, hold on!" gurgled Wat Snell, who had declared that believing in
ghosts was "all rot." "What are we here for--to listen to ghost
stories or to have a little picnic?"

"Oh, drop your ghost yam," said George Harris, who had asserted that he
did not believe in anything he could not see. "You may tell it to us
some other time."

"But this is a really interesting story," in