s!" grunted Bruce, sniffing the air as he approached. "What
heavenly aroma is this that greets my nostrils?"

When the clams were uncovered and he saw them with their huge shells
yawning and the meat within looking white and tempting, he declared he
was very happy to be living.

"Gather round, fellows," said Frank, "Capture your clams and devour
them. There will be no ceremony in this case."

Then, as Browning fished out a clam and held it triumphantly aloft, a
man came whistling softly down the bank, joined the group without a
word, raked out a clam and extracted it from the shell, being the first
to taste the feast Frank had prepared.

It was the man in gray, Mr. Caleb Cooler!

"Yum!" exclaimed the man in gray. "That clam is hot!"

"Well, you are cool enough!" said Frank Merriwell.

"Oh, I'm Cooler," chuckled the queer old fellow. "Told you so some time
ago. Howdy, boys. Fine day, isn't it? Think we will have some more
weather? Or don't you know 'weather' we will or not?"

Bruce Browning arose to his feet and removed his coat.

"That's one way to keep cool at a clambake," grinned the man in gray.
"What are you going to do?"

"Mop up the beach with you," answered Browning, quietly. "I am going to
teach you a lesson."

"Teach is correct as you applied it," said Mr. Cooler. "Down this way I
find people say 'learn' for 'teach.' Just think how bad it would have
sounded had you said you were going to learn me a lesson."

He raked out another clam, but dropped it, shaking his hand and blowing
on his fingers.

"Even though I am Cooler, I find some things are warm enough," he
murmured. "That clam must have been near a fire. I dote on clams, baked,
boiled, fried or frizzled, it don't make a dern bit of difference.
Whenever I get an opportunity I go gunning for clams myself. I think it
is great sport to shoot a clam on the wing. With a good bird gun and a
dog, I presume it is an easy thing to bag clams around here?"

He was not paying the least attention to the big Yale man, and
Browning's threat to "wipe up the beach" with him seemed forgotten.

Hans was glaring at the man in gray, while strange, gurgling sounds came
from his throat. All at once he gave a yell, rolled over backward and
scrambled to his feet.

"Don't touch him, Pruce!" warned the Dutch boy. "I peen goin' to smash
dot veller myseluf!"

"Ah there, Irish," chirped Mr. Cooler. "You will catch cold in your
liver if you let the wind blow down your