g, a ring of
satisfaction in his voice.

"Well, may I be kicked!" growled Duncan Yates, as he started after the
two lads, who had passed and were scudding along the street at a steady
trot.

"Flem seldom makes a mistake," murmured Tom Thornton.

"But Merriwell is not in his rig," said Andy Emery, the fourth one of
the group.

"That doesn't make any difference," declared Flemming. "He is taking a
run with Pierson, and that proves what I told Yates. You all know how
that chap undermined me on the crew. I don't say that he can't row, mind
you--I do not claim that I could have done any better than he did; but I
do claim that he is full of such sneaking underhand tricks, and I knew
he was trying for something when I saw him stop Pierson on the campus
to-day."

Yates was silent, staring along the street, down which the two runners
had disappeared.

"Come, old man!" cried Flemming, slapping Yates on the back, "let's go
into Morey's and sit down, where we can have a drink and talk this
matter over."

Duncan shook his head.

"I won't go in there," he said.

"Why not?"

"I am in training, you know, and somebody would see me drinking there.
That would kick up some talk."

"Well, will you go anywhere?"

"Yes, I'll go somewhere that we can sit down in a quiet room, where
there is no chance that fellows who know me will drop in. I feel just
like having something."

"I know the very place," declared Flemming. "Come on."

Then the quartet moved away, Flemming leading.

In the meantime Merriwell and Pierson had continued on their way. As had
been agreed, Pierson set the pace. At first he ran along at a gentle
trot, but by the time the outskirts of New Haven were reached he had
begun to increase his speed.

"Now," he thought, "I'll put Merriwell to the test, and I do not fancy
he will be in condition to make a very hot run on the return."

Faster and faster went Paul, and still the lad at his side kept there
with apparent ease. With their clinched hands held close to their
breasts and their heads thrown back, they ran on and on.

There was a slice of a moon in the western sky, shedding a thin white
light over the world. From far to the south came the shrill whistle of a
locomotive, cutting through the air like a keen knife.

The road which Pierson had selected was one over which there was
considerable travel, and it was in very fair condition.

Without appearing to do so, Paul slyly kept watch of Merriwell, wi