past, and you rebels have been whipped into
subjection, then--"

"I say--whipped!" exclaimed Billings.

"Subjection!" Rodney almost howled. "That will never be. Southerners
die, but they don't submit. Dick Graham, you are a traitor, sure enough.
You think more of that rag to-day than you do of the rights of the State
you claim as your home."

"There's where you are wrong," replied Dick. "I don't quite believe in
State Rights, but my father does, and that's enough for me; and whenever
Missouri gets ready to--"

"When she gets ready to join the Confederacy you won't have the pluck to
go with her," exclaimed Rodney hotly. "But there's one thing about it.
Our own flag goes up on that tower after roll-call in the morning, and
I'll pitch the first fellow over the parapet who tries to pull it
down."

"Well, good-by, if you call that going," said Dick, good-naturedly.

The boys all followed Rodney down the stairs and Dick was left alone. He
felt of the flag to make sure it was safe, and after looking up and down
the hall to see that no one was observing his movements, he went into
Marcy Gray's room, where Marcy himself found him a few minutes later.

CHAPTER V.

THE PAID SPY.

It must not be supposed that the students who did not side with Rodney
Gray were entirely deceived by the demonstration that had taken place in
the corridor. Noisy political discussions were of too common occurrence
to attract the attention of Marcy and his friends, the most of whom were
sitting quietly in their rooms, and they gave no heed to what was going
on below until the shuffling of feet announced that there was a fight in
progress. Then they rushed out in a body, but a single glance at the
boys who were struggling in the hall was enough to show them that their
services were not needed. The combatants were all secessionists. There
were a few "neutrals" among them--Dixon for one--who were trying to
restore order, and who finally succeeded in getting them out of the
building, but there was no Union boy there who was in want of
assistance.

"What's in the wind now, do you reckon?" said Tom Percival, whose father
had cast his ballot against secession with one hand, while holding a
cocked revolver in the other. "That's a put-up job, and there's
something behind it."

"I believe you're right, Tom," said Marcy. "Let's follow them and see
what they are going to do."

There was