felt scared for the first time
that night. He was certain it would mean expulsion to be caught.

For all of the running he had done that night, he fled like a frightened
deer, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. He had never dreamed that
Professor Grant was a sprinter, but the man was running at great
speed--seemed to be gaining.

"Stop, sir!" cried the pursuer. "I tell you to stop!"

"Not much!" thought Frank. "I won't stop! If you catch me your wind is
better than I think it is."

He did not dare go into his house, so he dashed past, cut into another
street, turned corner after corner, and still he found himself pursued.
It seemed marvelous that Professor Grant could keep up such a pace.

Finally the pursuer called:

"Merriwell, is that you?"

No answer.

"I know you," declared the pursuer, and now Frank perceived that that
voice did not sound like Professor Grant. "You are a crackajack runner.
I wanted to give you a try to see what you could do. I'll see you
to-morrow. Good-night."

The pursuer gave up the chase.

"As I live, I believe it was Pierson, manager of the ball team!"
muttered Frank when he was sure it was no trick and he was no longer
followed. "He looks something like Professor Grant, and he is a great
mimic. That's just who it was."

A short time later he was in his room, where a jovial party of freshmen
was gathered.

CHAPTER XXI

ROAST TURKEY.

Frank's appearance, with the turkey still in his possession, was hailed
with shouts of delight.

"We didn't know as you would get in," said Jones. "I invited some more
of the fellows up here, as you see, and we found out that some of the
sophs seemed to know something unusual was going on."

"That's right," nodded Rattleton. "They were laying for us. Two of them
stopped me when I reached York Street. They told me to give up what I
had, but I didn't have anything to give up, so they let me go."

Then Frank told of his adventure with a person who looked like Professor
Grant.

"That's it!" cried Little. "That was their game! They were after our
turkey."

"But how did they know we were after turkey?" asked Robinson.

"They must have been told by somebody," said Street.

"And that means we have a tattler among us," declared Burnham
Putnam--Old Put--looking keenly around.

The boys looked at each other suspiciously, wondering if there was one
of the number who would carry to the sophs.

To Frank's surprise he saw that Walte