"He's a cheerful chap—not," murmured George.

"He might at least treat us decently," said Tom, and there was a note of defiance in his voice. "If we've damaged his corn I'm willing to pay for it, but he might at least direct us to the road."

"That's right," chimed in Jack. "What's he doing now?"

"Getting a lantern, from the looks of things," replied Bert. The farmer had gone to the barn and in a few moments he returned carrying a light that swung to and fro, casting queer fantastic shadows on the rain-soaked ground.

"Now I'll see what sort of damage ye done t' my corn!" grumbled the man. "I don't see what right a passel of youngsters have t' tramp through a man's field for, anyhow?"

"We got lost, I told you!" exclaimed Tom, a bit provoked. "We didn't do it on purpose. If we've done any damage we're responsible for it."

"Yes, I know what that means!" sneered the man. By this time he was at the fence over which the boys had leaped into his yard, and, swinging the lantern about, he endeavored to see how much damage had been done to his corn.

"Tromped down! A whole passel of ye tromped it down!" he muttered. "I thought so, an' that's my best field, too! I've a notion t' have ye arrested fer trespass."

"Oh, be sensible," ripped out Tom, who was fast losing his temper, a thing that seldom occurred to him. "Tell us what the damage is, and I'll settle. And then tell us how we can get on the river road, and back to Elmwood Hall."

"Huh! A nice lot of school boys you are!" sneered the, man. "Th' fust thing they ought t' teach ye is manners! Spilin' a man's corn!"

"Can't you say what the damage is?" put in Jack.

"No, I can't—not until mornin', anyhow."

"Then tell us how to get on the right road, and you can send your bill to Elmwood Hall. Fairfield is my name—Tom Fairfield," cried our hero.

"Oh, I'll send you the bill all right," snapped the farmer. "I'll attend to that, and ye'll pay th' last cent due, too, let me tell you that!"

"All right," agreed Tom with a sigh. "I suppose you'll charge us double, but we've got to expect that from such as you."

"What do you mean?" snapped, the man swinging his lantern up so he could see Tom's face.

"You know what I mean! You don't seem to want to be reasonable. Now, if it's all the same to you, will you kindly direct us to the right road? And as soon as your bill comes in I'll settle it, though I want to say that we had no idea of injuring your corn, and wouldn't have gotten into your field but that we got lost."

"Huh! That's a likely story. I know you fresh young school squabs!"

"Oh, where's the road?" asked Tom impatiently. "We don't care much for your opinions!"

"Find it yourself!" snapped the man. "I'll not show you, and the sooner you get off my property the better for you!"

"Humph! I can't say that I admire your disposition," spoke Tom, in exasperation, for he was cold and wet, and the prospect of reporting in late, and making a failure of the cross-country run, was not pleasant.

"None of your sass!" growled the man. "Be off, now, or I'll turn the dogs loose!"

With another took at the trampled rows of corn he went into the house, taking the lantern with him, and shutting the door after him. It seemed darker than ever in the farmyard with the light gone, and the rain was coming down in torrents.

"Nice prospect!" murmured George.

"What are we going to do?" asked Bert.

"He's the man with the original grouch all right," contributed Jack. "Where'll we go?"

"Over this way!" called Tom, who had been looking about. "I think I see something like a gate leading into a lane. It may take us to a road. Come on."

They followed him, splashing through the mud puddles and darkness. Then came a flash of lightning, which showed them the lane in question. It did lead into the road, and a little later they were on the river highway, headed toward the Hall.

"Let's run and get warmed up," proposed Bert, and they set off on a dog trot.

"I wonder if any of the others are as badly off as we are?" spoke Jack.

"I hope not," came from George.

"I suppose we're out of the running," remarked Bert. "It must be after eight."

"Half-past," said Tom, managing to see the dial of his watch by a lightning flash.

"Ugh!" grunted Jack. "It's all up with us."

In silence they plowed on, and a little later they saw the welcome lights of Elmwood Hall.

"Humph! Late, young gentlemen," remarked Mr. Porter, the proctor, as they filed in the gate. "Report to Doctor Meredith at once."

"It was an accident—we got lost," explained Bert.

"And a crusty old farmer wouldn't show us the road," added Tom.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help it. Report to the doctor," was all the satisfaction they received.

But the head master was not at all unkind about it. He listened to their explanation, and consoled them for their ill luck.

They managed to get something to eat, and then, paying a surreptitious visit to the rooms of some of their chums, they learned that they were fully three-quarters of an hour later in coming back than were the last of the stragglers.



"Did Sam and Nick make good time?" asked Tom, of the football captain.

"Very good, yes. They were among the first ones in. I'm sorry about you boys."

"I suppose we're out of the game," hinted Jack.

"Well, not altogether, but it'll set you back. However, I'll do what I can. Better turn in now. You must be tired."

"Tired isn't a name for it!" groaned Bert. "I'll sleep like a locomotive to-night."

They were all slumbering almost as soon as they tumbled into bed, and, though they had been well soaked, they experienced no ill effects the next morning.

To their delight the football captain and coach said nothing about their ill-luck in being outside the time limit for the cross-country run, and they went to practice as usual.

"Huh! I wonder if they call that fair?" sneered Sam, when he saw his enemy, and the latter's friends, in their usual places.

"It's not right," asserted Nick, "after we made the run, and got in on time."

"Well, you didn't get lost in the woods," said George Abbot, who was at least on speaking terms with Sam and his crony. "A farm fellow told us to take the wrong road to avoid a hill."

"Did he?" asked Sam, and there was a trace of a smile on his face. "Well, you can't always trust farm hands," and he nudged Nick in the ribs, though George did not see it.

Two days later Doctor Meredith called Tom to his office.

"There has been a complaint made against you," said the school head. "Trampling down the corn of one—er—Jed Appleby——" went on Doctor Meredith, reading from a memoranda. "He says you agreed to pay for it, and his bill is—ten dollars!"

"What!" cried Tom. "We didn't do half that damage! But I'm willing to pay."

"And after this, please be careful not to annoy the farmers hereabout," warned the head of the school. "We have to guard against the students doing that."

"I'll be careful," promised Tom grimly. "Ten dollars! Whew!" he exclaimed, as he took the bill and went out. "If he got a dollar he'd be getting more than the corn we trampled was worth. But I'll not dispute it. Only I'll get square with him," he boasted to his chums.

On going to pay the amount assessed against him, Tom found that the possessions of Mr. Appleby extended to within a short distance of the school grounds. At least one of the farmer's hay fields did, being connected to a main road by a long lane.

"And if he'd been decent," mused Tom, on his way back, after settling the score, "he could have shown us the way through his hay field, and we might have gotten into the Hall on time. The old grouch!"

He cut through the lot, passing a big pile of hay that was stacked and thatched for winter.

"Well, did you fix him up?" asked Jack, as his chum entered the room on his return.

"I did—worse luck to him. Some day we'll have to have the white-caps visit him, or treat him to a coat of tar and feathers. It isn't the ten dollars that I mind so much as it is being gouged by a farmer. I'll get square though!"

It was several nights after this that Tom, gathering up some packages from his dresser, slipped on his coat and cap.

"Where you going?" asked Jack, yawning and tossing aside a book he had been pretending to study.

"Oh, just out for a walk," replied Tom, evasively.

"Want any company?"

"I'll be right back," was the remark, which would seem to indicate that company was not desired.

"All right. Bring me back some peanuts if you go past Pop's place," and Jack tossed over a dime.

Tom's chums were in bed when he returned, and without awakening them, as he supposed, he undressed in the dark and tumbled into his cot.

"That you, Tom?" murmured Jack sleepily.

"Yes."

"What smells so queer? Have you been smoking?"

"No, but I came home in a trolley and there were some fellows in it hitting the pipe."

"Oh, I thought it couldn't be you," for neither Tom nor his chums used the weed.

Jack turned over, and was soon breathing heavily, and Tom, too, was not long in getting to sleep.

It was Bert who awakened them some hours later.

"Hello fellows!" he called. "There's a fire somewhere. I can see the reflection of it on the windows."

They all jumped up, and Jack, going to the casement, exclaimed:

"It isn't here. None of the school buildings are ablaze."

"No, it's over that hill," said Bert. "I have it!" he cried. "Some of Farmer Appleby's hay ricks are on fire, or maybe a barn. Come on fellows, let's help put 'em out!"

"Oh, what's the use?" asked Tom. "It serves him right. He gouged us enough to pay for a ton of hay anyhow. Let it burn!"



CHAPTER XI

HOT WORK

Tom's chums looked at him for a moment in the reflected light of the blaze, as it shone in the windows of their room. Then Jack exclaimed:

"Oh, quit your kidding, Tom. Get on your clothes and we'll go over and play firemen. You're not going to stay here."

"No, I meant it!" insisted Tom. "I don't see why we fellows should go to a lot of trouble, and get all smoked up, to save the hay stacks of a grouchy old codger who raised a row just because we trampled down a few hills of his corn."

"Oh, forget it and come along," urged Bert. "There are some of our fellows going now," and he pointed down to the campus, across which several figures could be seen hurrying.

"Sure, come ahead," added Jack, beginning to dress. "It will be something new, anyhow. It isn't like you, Tom, to hold back, even though you have been gouged."

"All right I'll come along," assented our hero, with a short laugh, "though if I get a chance I'll tell Jed Appleby what I think of him, the old skinflint!"

"Better not have a row," suggested Jack calmly.

In a short tune the three chums, followed by George Abbot, were hurrying out of the school dormitory. Some of the monitors began a remonstrance, but when a Senior or two pointed out to Doctor Meredith, who had been hastily aroused, that it was the duty of the students to help prevent the spread of the conflagration, so near the Hall, the head of the school allowed as many as cared to go to the blaze.

"Say, it's a big one all right!" exclaimed Jack, as they hurried on.

"Yes, I shouldn't wonder but what more than one stack is going," added Bert, for they were below the hill now, and could see only the increased reflection of the flames on the sky.

"How did it start? Who set it on fire? Is it hay or straw?" asked George excitedly.

"Stow that!" commanded Tom sharply. "How do we know; and how do you know it was set on fire, George?"

"I don't know. But hay stacks don't generally set themselves ablaze; do they?"

"How about spontaneous combustion?" asked Tom, quickly.

"Or a tramp sleeping under the hay with a pipe going?" added Bert. "Come on, hit it up, or we'll be the last ones there."

This was evident, for a number of groups of school lads had passed our friends, who were jogging along rather leisurely.

"There goes Sam Heller and Nick," remarked Bert.

"All right. Let 'em get ahead," advised Tom. "We don't want their company."

As they reached the top of the hill the blaze burst full on their sight.

"Two stacks on fire!" yelled Jack.

"Big ones, too!" added Bert.

"And they're near the barn," said Tom. "That'll go next, if the wind shifts."

"They've formed a bucket brigade," said George. "Come on, fellows, let's hurry and get busy!"

He broke into a sharp run, the others following, and soon they were at the scene, together with a number of their friends from all classes. Farmer Appleby was running about "like a hen with her head cut off," as Tom expressed it, calling out various orders.

"Git more water there!" he shouted. "Fill them buckets faster! Hurry up, boys, or th' hull place'll go! Lively now! Oh when I git holt of th' rask'il thet set fire t' my hay I'll have th' law on him!"

"He thinks someone set the fire," remarked Bert to Tom.

"Very likely," was the calm reply. "Most farmers do when it's their own carelessness that's to blame. But he'll never get the fire out that way."

This was only too evident. Half a score of men and boys, some of them the hired help of Mr. Appleby, were filling pails from a cistern, and at a pump, and dashing the water on the blazing hay. They could not get near enough to make the water effective, and what little they did dash on was almost at once turned to steam by the heat. Then, too, the stack was so large in diameter at the bottom that only one side could be attacked at a time.

"Have you any more pails?" yelled Jack into the farmer's ear.

"I don't know. Don't bother me! Look in the barn! Oh what a calamity!" was the answer. "If I get holt of th' rask'l———" and then the farmer rushed off to grab a bucket from a staggering lad, who was advancing with it. Mr. Appleby slipped in the mud, and went down, spilling the precious fluid.

"Jupiter's crab apples!" he cried. "What d' ye mean by that, Hank Norton? Butterfingers!"

"You spilled it! I didn't!" snapped the lad.

"All right, git more! Oh, what a fire! My barns'll go, sure!" and the distracted man rushed about not knowing what to do.

"He's half crazy," decided Tom. "He'll never get the fire out in the world acting that way. And if the wind shifts the blaze will blow right toward the barns."

This was evident. Two large stacks of hay, for which there had been no room in the barn, stood in the farmyard not far from the big buildings that contained the farm products, horses and machinery. Both stacks were afire in several places, but as there was only a slight wind the flames went almost straight up, inclining away from the buildings. But it would need only a slight shift of the wind to cause much damage.

"What's to be done?" asked Jack.

"Get the horses out first," decided Tom. "That is if they're not out already. Let's have a look." Now that he was on the scene, even his feeling against the old farmer would not allow him to stand idly by and see property destroyed.

"That's the way to talk!" cried Bert. "Let's save the horses."

They found the animals in their stalls, trying to break loose, and tramping excitedly on the wooden floor.

"Steady, boys! Steady!" called Tom soothingly, and at the sound of his voice the steeds were a bit less restless.

"How are you going to manage?" asked Jack. "I don't know much about horses, but I've heard that they'll rush into a blaze if you cut 'em loose."

"That's bosh!" cried Tom. "It's hard to get 'em past a fire, unless you blind 'em. Get me some old bags and I'll lead 'em out. Come on, Bert. You used to live on a farm."

From the light of the blazing stacks, shining in the barn windows, Jack and George saw where a pile of grain sacks were lying. They passed some to Tom and Bert, and a little later the two lads each led a horse out, the bags having been tossed over the steeds' heads to shut out their view of the fire. The animals were restive, but allowed themselves to be led.

"Here you go!" called Tom to some of his school friends. "Take the horses quite a way off, and tie 'em to the fence. There are four more in here!"

He and Bert went back, and soon had led out two more steeds, while one of the farmer's hired men, becoming aware of the need of haste, led out the other two. Thus the horses were saved.

"Whew!" exclaimed Tom, as he came from the barn after the last of the steeds were safe. "That was hot work!"

"And look at the hay stacks!" cried Jack. "They're blazing fiercer than ever."

"Yep. Water's give out!" exclaimed a hired man. "I guess th' hull place'll go now. I'm goin' t' save my trunk. I've got a new shirt an' a pair of pants I ain't wore yit!" and he scurried toward the house.

"Water's gone!" cried Tom. "Then there's only one way to save the barns."

"How?" asked Jack.

"They'll have to pull the stacks to pieces, and throw the hay that isn't blazing as far off as they can. Scatter it, and then the fire will eat itself out. It's the only way, and it can be done if they hurry, and the wind doesn't shift."

"Come on then!" yelled Bert. "It's up to us. No one else seems to know what to do."

"Grab these pitchforks!" yelled Tom, pointing to several of the implements standing near the barn. "Tear the stacks apart!"

With the sharp-pointed tools ready for service, Tom and his three chums rushed toward the burning stacks. The farmer and his men were standing helplessly by.

"Tear 'em apart! Tear 'em apart!" yelled Tom. "It's the only way!"

The next second, in spite of the intense heat, he and the other lads were scattering the hay on the side of the stack that was not yet ablaze.



CHAPTER XII

ACCUSATIONS

"That's the way to do it!"

"Why didn't we think of that before?"

"Get busy, everybody! Scatter the hay!"

These cries greeted the activity of Tom and his three friends, and, a few seconds later, as many of the crowd of students as could get near were picking and tearing at the stacks of hay, with whatever they could lay their hands on—pitchforks, rakes, sticks, clothes-poles—anything that would serve to scatter the inflammable mass, that was not yet ablaze, far enough off so that the tongues of fire could not reach it.

It was hot work and disagreeable work, for the smoke and ashes were blown into the faces of the lads time and again. Yet they persisted, not from any love for the farmer, since his treatment of Tom was well known, but because of the lads' inherent desire to do something—especially at a fire.

Meanwhile, Mr. Appleby, seeing that the blaze was now in competent hands, turned his attention to the barns, getting out, with the help of some students and his hired men, the farm machinery, and some sacks of grain.

But there was no need of this, as it developed, for, in a comparatively short time, Tom's tactics proved effective. The fire, from lack of material to feed on, gradually died out, and though the greater part of the two stacks were consumed, the scattering of the remaining hay solved the problem.

The fierce heat and blaze began to subside, and in a short time all that was left was a pile of glowing ashes. Tom and his friends ceased their efforts, and withdrew to the cooler area near the barn, that had been half emptied of their contents before it was certain that they would not go up in flames and smoke.

"Well, that's over," remarked Jack, as he stood his pitchfork up against the building, "and I'm glad of it."

"So am I," declared Bert.

"And you're a mighty lucky man, Mr. Appleby," said one of his neighbors, "that you have any out-buildings left."

"But look at the hay that's burned!" whined the farmer. "Nigh on to three tons of it gone, an' the rest spiled by smoke, I reckon."

"But you're lucky just the same," insisted another neighbor who had come over to help fight the blaze. "If it hadn't been for these school boys, and that one in particular who had the gumption to think of scattering the hay, you'd be many thousands of dollars poorer than you are now. What's a few tons of hay compared to that?"

"Of course!" came a murmur from several other farmers.

"Humph!" almost sneered Mr. Appleby. "Them school fellers! Maybe they know more about this fire than they're lettin' on!"

"What's that?" cried Tom, who overheard the words. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothin'—at least not yet, until I've looked around a bit," replied Mr. Appleby. "You needn't be so touchy. Ain't I seen you before, somewhere?" he asked, peering into Tom's face by the dying glow of the fire.

"You have," answered our hero calmly. "I had the pleasure of paying you ten dollars for some corn you said we spoiled the night we were lost on the cross-country run, and you refused to direct us to the right road."

"Humph! I thought I recognized you," and the farmer turned away without so much as a word of thanks to Tom and his chums.

"Keep the change," called Tom after him. "Next time you have a fire send for us!"

"The old grouch!" gasped Jack. "Isn't he the limit?"

"And then some more," added Bert. "Come on back to bed. I smell like a smoked ham I imagine."

"We all do," agreed Jack. "But I wonder what old Appleby was driving at when he said some of our lads might know more about this fire than they were saying?"

"Oh, just talk I imagine," said Tom quickly. "He hedged when I tried to corner him. He's so excited he doesn't know what he is saying. Come on; let's go back."

They filed out of the still smoky farmyard and made their way back to the Hall, other lads doing the same thing. The excitement was over now, and soon Elmwood Hall had taken on her normal appearance at night, with her students resuming their interrupted slumbers.

There was much talk of the fire the next morning, the topic forming a fruitful source of conversation at the breakfast tables, and on the way to chapel. Then came lessons, when the lads separated. But in Tom's mind there rankled the words the old farmer had used.

"I wonder what will come of it?" he mused.

He had not long to wait to find out. That afternoon, following some hard football practice, when he and his two particular chums were on their way to the gymnasium for a shower bath, they heard a voice behind them asking:

"I say, kin you boys tell me where I kin find Doctor Meredith? I want t' have a talk with him."

They turned, to behold Farmer Appleby, dressed in what were apparently his best clothes, and with a "biled" shirt, the collar of which obviously galled his neck.

"There is the doctor's residence, over there," indicated Tom. "I trust the fire is all out," he added, half sarcastically.

"Humph! Yes, it's out, but I ain't done with it yet," and the farmer nodded his head vigorously. "I've got some suspicions, and I've come t' tell 'em. I want t' have a talk with Doctor Meredith about that fire."

"Here he comes now," said Jack, as the tall form of the head master was seen approaching over the campus. Seeing the group of lads, and recognizing them, the doctor turned and approached Tom and his mates. Mr. Appleby, assuming an air of importance, stood waiting.

"Well, boys, none the worse from the excitement of last night, I hope," began the head of the school. "At least I see you are able to resume football practice," and he smiled at the rather soiled appearance of the lads.

"Yes, we're all right," assented Jack.

"Be you Doctor Meredith?" broke in the farmer.

"I am," was the quiet answer, and a pair of eyes that had an uncomfortable habit of seeming to bore right through one, looked sharply at the farmer. "Did you wish to see me?"

"Yes, I'm Mr. Appleby. It was my hay stacks that burned last night."

"Oh, yes, I heard about it. I am sorry for you. I understand that had it not been for some of my students the fire would have been much worse. You have come to thank them, through me, I take it."

"Well, no, Doctor Meredith, I don't know as I have," and the farmer's voice seemed harsh and grating.

"You have not? Pray, then, what———"

"I come t' tell you, Doctor Meredith, that perhaps if it hadn't been fer some of your boys maybe there wouldn't have been any fire!"

"What's that?" exclaimed the doctor, drawing himself up sharply and looking at the farmer intently. "Just what do you mean, Mr. Appleby?"

"Jest what I said. I'm not satisfied as t' how that fire started, and I suspect that some of your students set it."

"Preposterous! Why should they do such a thing as that?"

"Because some of them have a grudge against me. It ain't th' fust time the school boys has played tricks on me. Two years ago they burned up an old shed."

"So you said at the time, but you could never prove it, I believe. You should be careful how you make accusations, sir."

"I am careful, Doctor Meredith, an' that's why I didn't come sooner. I've got evidence now."

"Evidence? What kind?"

"Well, one of my hired men saw a fellow, who looked like a school lad, sneaking around the hay stacks a leetle while afore they begun to blaze."

"Is that all? If it is, I call that very flimsy evidence; and I again warn you to be careful how you make accusations."

"It ain't all, Doctor Meredith. Th' same hired man picked up this pin near the stacks," and the farmer held out a pin such as was worn by nearly every Elmwood Hall student.

"Picked up the pin near the stacks; did he?" asked the head master coolly, as he looked at the ornament. "Well, seeing that a number of my students were helping put out the fire, it is but natural that one might lose a pin there. I see no evidence in that, and again——"

"This here pin were picked up at the stacks just afore th' fire was discovered—not afterward," said the farmer in a harsh voice, as his gaze swept the faces of Tom and his chums.



CHAPTER XIII

THE POISONED HORSES

For the space of several seconds there was silence—a portentous silence—and then the head of the school, looking from the pin in his hand at the accusing farmer, and thence to the three lads said:

"Do you know, Mr. Appleby, to whom this pin belongs?"

"No, sir, I don't. But I thought maybe you could tell. That's why I come t' see you. If anybody set my stacks afire I want t' know it, an' I want damages, same as I had when some fellers tromped through my corn," and Mr. Appleby looked straight at Tom, who returned the gaze fearlessly.

"Again I warn you to be careful in your accusations, Mr. Appleby," said the head master sharply.

"I am, Doctor. I ain't namin' no names, but I brought that pin t' you, thinkin' you could tell who owned it. Then, when it is knowed who was sneakin' around my barns, I may be able t' say who sot the fire!"

"Preposterous!" exclaimed Doctor Meredith. "I will not, for one moment, entertain a suspicion, even, against one of my lads on such flimsy evidence as this."

"'Tain't flimsy!" retorted the farmer. "There's been men convicted of serious crimes on less evidence than a gold pin. That's a school emblem, an' I know it!"

"True enough," agreed the head master.

"Then I ask you to say who owns it?" demanded the incensed farmer.

"That I cannot say," was the cool answer. "This is not a class pin—it is a hall emblem—that is, any lad in the school is entitled to wear it, and nearly every one does."

"Then call the roll, an' find out who's lost his pin!" suggested Mr. Appleby eagerly. "That's an easy way to find out."

"I shall do nothing of the sort!" answered the doctor firmly.

"Then I'll go t' law about it. I tell you, Doctor Meredith, that pin was picked up near the stack before the hay was found t' be on fire. It belongs to one of your students, an' I demand an investigation."

"Well, you may demand as much as you please, Mr. Applesauce——"

"Appleby's my name—Jed Appleby."

"Very well, Mr. Appleby. You may demand as much as you please, but I shall not inflict an accusation on any of my students in general, and certainly on none in particular, on such flimsy evidence as this. Here is the pin, you may advertise it if you like."

"Huh! Yes, an' d' ye s'pose th' owner would claim it? Not much. I don't want th' pin. It ain't mine. But I want t' know who sot that fire, an' I'm goin' t' find out! One of my men seen a school lad near the hay early in th' evenin', I tell ye!"

"Can he identify him?" asked the doctor.

"No, I don't know as he kin. It was dark, an'——"

"That will do," interrupted the head master. "I am afraid I have no more time to listen to you. Good day. I shall keep the pin, since you refuse to take it," and the doctor, with a curt nod to the farmer, and a smile at the lads, passed on.

For a moment Tom and his chums stood looking at the somewhat bewildered farmer, and then Tom spoke.

"You've got a lot of nerve!" he said cuttingly.

"I should say so," added Bert.

"The worst ever," added Jack. "After we help you put out the fire, and practically saved your barns and horses, you come and make trouble like this. You're a peach, you are!"

"Don't you give me none of your back talk!" snapped Mr. Appleby. "I know what I'm doin'."

"Yes, and I suppose you did when you charged us ten dollars for a little corn," said Tom.

"That's all right," replied the farmer, doggedly. "I'll find out who sot that fire, and I'll have th' law on 'em, student or no student. An' I'll find out who lost that pin."

"Good luck to you!" called Bert sarcastically.

"Maybe you lost it yourself," said the farmer quickly. "Will you show me your pin, an' will you swear you wasn't away from the school early in th' evenin' of the fire? Will you?"

"I sure will!" exclaimed Bert, "and here's my pin," and he showed where it was fastened on his sweater that he used to throw over his broad shoulders when resting from football practice.

"Where's yours?" demanded Mr. Appleby, turning to Tom and Jack.

Bert, who was looking at Tom, fancied he saw a start on the part of his chum. There was just the suggestion of a flush under the tan of his cheeks, and then he answered:

"It's in my room probably. I don't wear it all the while."

"Neither do I," added Jack quickly. "I haven't mine on. Maybe I lost it."

"Why, Jack!" began Bert. "I saw your pin on you this af———"

He subsided quickly, for, as Tom turned aside Jack administered a swift kick to Bert, at the same time hissing into his ear: "Shut up, you chump! Why do you want to bother answering a fellow like him?"

"Oh—er—all right," stammered Bert, and he looked from Jack to Tom, wonderingly.

"All right. You may think you're smart, but you'll find that th' law's smarter than any of ye!" threatened the farmer, as he turned aside with a scowl.

"Nice sort of chap—not," murmured Tom, as he strode on, his companions hurrying to catch up to him.

"I should say so," agreed Jack. "Why, any fellow might lose his pin—not necessarily at Appleby's hay stacks—and that, in his eyes, would make him guilty. I don't even know where my school pin is at this moment."

Once more Bert looked at Jack, and he wondered much, for he was sure he had seen Jack's pin gleaming on his sweater a short time before the farmer appeared, and yet now Jack said he did not have it.

"It's too much for me!" murmured Bert. He was not much given to solving puzzles, and this one was beyond him. Why had Jack pretended not to have his pin, when all the while Bert was sure he had seen it? Could it be that———?

"Oh, pshaw!" exclaimed Bert, to himself. "I'm not going to get into deep water over this. I'll wait and see what happens."

And, though he did not know it, much was to happen soon.

It was soon noised about the college that Farmer Appleby had made a "crack" about his hay fire, and great was the indignation of the lads.

"After what we did for him, he ought to be glad enough to keep quiet, if we burned half a dozen stacks!" exclaimed Reddy Burke, the genial Irish lad. "Sure and it's meself would tell him that same if I got a chance," Reddy always lapsed into the idioms of his forebears when he grew excited.

"Oh, it isn't worth bothering about," declared Bruce Bennington. "Appleby is naturally sore at losing some of his crops, for he's a regular miser. I know him of old. Every time something happened on his farm he always complained that we boys did it or had a hand in it."

"And did you?" asked Tom.

"Sometimes, but oftener not. Don't let it worry you. He's only looking for money. I'll wager if he was to be paid for his hay, and if he knew who set fire to it—if any one did—he'd keep quiet and compound the felony. Forget it."

It was about two weeks later, just prior to the first match football game of the season, that Bert and Jack, coming in from practice which Tom had left earlier because of a slight injury to his shoulder, found their chum busy with bottles and test tubes in their room.

"Whew! What a smell!" cried Jack, as he opened the door. "What in the world be you a doin' of, Tommy, my boy?"

"Oh, working out some physics problems. I'm a bit back in my work."

"Noble youth! I ought to be doing the same thing. My! but I'm dry. Got any ice water? What's this?" and Jack caught up a glass filled with a colorless liquid.

"Here! Drop that!" cried Tom, quickly. "That's had cyanide of potassium in. There may be some in it yet. If you want to go to an early grave, taste it."

"Not on your life!" gasped Jack, a bit white. "But you shouldn't leave such stuff around carelessly, Tom."

"I didn't intend to. I didn't think you fellows would be back so soon. I'm just cleaning up. I'm done now. How did practice go after I left?"

"Oh, we shoved the scrub all over, and made two more touchdowns. Say, though, I hope you can play Saturday," and Jack looked anxiously at Tom.

"Oh, sure I can play. I just didn't want to get laid up, and that's why I pulled out. I'll play all right."

The Elmwood regular eleven was being whipped into good shape by captain and coach, and to their delight our three friends were promised places for the first match game of the season.

It was a night or two before the game when Jack, who had been to town, came back with an evening paper.

"I say!" he exclaimed, looking it over before the summons to supper, "here's more trouble for our friend Appleby."

"What is it?" asked Tom quickly, looking up from a book.

"Why, it seems all his horses were poisoned night before last, all six of 'em. And they found traces of a white powder in the mangers this morning."

"Really?" cried Bert.

"Sure. Here's a long piece in the paper about it."

"Are they dead?" asked Tom.

"No, but it says it's doubtful if they'll get better. I say, I s'pose he'll make another row now, and charge some of us fellows with doing it," and Jack pored over the item.

"Why will he?" asked Tom.

"Because—Oh, just on general principles I fancy. Or he may find another school pin. I guess I'll put mine in a safe deposit box—when I find it," and Jack laughed, but there was no mirth in his voice.

"When you find it," repeated Bert. "Why—er—I thought you———"

Again he subsided, as Jack kicked him under the table, and an embarrassing pause was broken by the ringing of the supper gong.



CHAPTER XIV

SAM HELLER'S EVIDENCE

"Young gentlemen, I have a serious matter to bring before you. A very serious matter, involving not only the personal honor and reputation of every student here, but the school itself. I must ask for your close attention."

It was Doctor Pliny Meredith who was speaking, and the place was chapel, after the usual morning exercises. The students had been about to go to their lectures when the venerable head of the school, entering most unexpectedly, asked them to remain a moment.

"Two nights ago," went on Doctor Meredith, "several horses belonging to our neighbor, Mr. Appleby, were poisoned!"

There was a gasp of surprise from several students, not only those who had read the account in the paper, as Jack and his chums had done, but from others, who wondered what was coming next. They had not long to wait.

"You young gentlemen will recollect," went on Doctor Meredith gravely, "that, some time ago, there was a fire at the farm of this same Mr. Appleby. I made no reference to something that happened directly afterward, for I scouted the idea that any of our boys could be involved. Yet, as some of you may know, the farmer intimated that the fire might have been set by some of the Elmwood Hall students."

There were several hisses, but Doctor Meredith raised a quick hand for silence.

"That will do," he said calmly. "That is undignified, and we must meet this in a dignified and fair spirit. As I said, I took no action at that time, for the evidence was absolutely nil. However, since the affair of the poisoning I am compelled to take some notice of an accusation that has been brought to my notice."

Again there was a gasp of surprise. Had the farmer dared to intimate that any Elmwood Hall lads had poisoned his horses?

"Since the last unfortunate affair," went on the head master, "I have received a visit from Mr. Appleby. He states to me that some kind of chemical poison was administered to all his horses after his men had fed them In the evening. One of the animals has since died, and the others are in a precarious state. If they recover it will be some time before they are fit for service. Now comes the part that interests us.

"Mr. Appleby states that he himself saw, and recognized, one of our students about his barrio shortly before it was discovered that the horses were poisoned."

"How does he know?" asked one of the Seniors—a privileged character, evidently, for he was not rebuked.

"He says he recognized a peculiar colored sweater the student wore, and also his manner of walking. This student was seen near the barn, and when Mr. Appleby hurried out to warn him away, the individual ran off, dropping a small package. This Mr. Appleby picked up, not paying much attention to it at the time. But later, when he learned that his horses had been poisoned, he gave this package to a veterinarian. It was found to contain a powder, one ingredient of which was cyanide of potassium, a deadly poison, but which, blended with other things, may only cause severe illness. It was this poison that was administered to the horses."

Once more came a murmur from the students. It was hushed as Doctor Meredith went on.

"Mr. Appleby insists on an investigation," said the head master, "and I must admit that he has several points in his favor. I have told him I would bring the matter before you. I might add that the sweater worn by the person the farmer saw was dropped in flight. I—er—I have it here," and Doctor Meredith unwrapped a small bundle. He held up to view a sweater—of a deep purple tint, with yellow stripes on it. It was an atrociously-hued garment, such as only a student would dare wear.

Once more that gasp, for several of the students at once recognized the garment. There were but two in the college. One like it had been worn by Tom Fairfield, and the other by Sam Heller.

"Does—er does anyone wish to claim this sweater?" proceeded the doctor, "and—er—and state how it came to be on the premises of Mr. Appleby?"

In spite of their self-control, nearly all eyes were turned in Tom's direction. He felt the hot blood leap to his face. There was a roaring in his ears as he arose and said:

"I think that is my sweater, Doctor Meredith. At least I had one like it and———"

"You had it?" asked the doctor, emphasizing the word.

"Yes, but I disposed of it some days ago."

"How did you—er—dispose of it?"

"I would rather not state—unless I am compelled to."

"You may have to, Fairfield. But of that more later. You say this is your garment?"

"I think so, yes, sir. At least there is only one other like it in this school, as far as I know, and that one———"

"Belongs to me!" interrupted Sam Heller. "I have mine here," and, opening his coat, he showed, beneath it, the brightly-colored sweater.

This time there was not an eye but what was turned on Tom. He felt the gaze and straightened up.

"But I wish to state, Doctor Meredith," he said quickly, "that I had nothing to do with the poisoning of the horses, and I did not know of the occurrence until I saw the account in the paper."

"Very well, we will note your denial, Fairfield, but about this sweater. It is rather damaging evidence, since you yourself admit that it is yours."

"I do, but, as I said, I had disposed of it some time before."

"And you do not care to state to whom?"

"No, sir, except to say that it was not to any one connected in the most remote way with Elmwood Hall."

Again there came a murmur, quickly hushed.

"Is there anyone who can throw any light on this rather important subject?" asked the head master. "I must not conceal from you that this is a serious matter. Mr. Appleby threatens to go to the police with it, unless the guilty one confesses, and unless reparation is made. Even then, it will be in the nature of compounding a felony unless certain legal action is taken. Is there anyone who wishes to say something?"

For a moment there was silence, and then Sam Heller slowly arose again.

"Since this matter has assumed a certain phase," he said, speaking calmly, "and since it is a question of the identification of a certain garment, of which I own one, I wish to state that I was not at the farm, nor have I ever been there as far as I can recollect. At the same time, in justice to myself, I must state that I saw a certain student from this school on the lane leading to the farm, night before last."

"I will not ask you to state now who that was," said the head master, quickly, "as it would not be fair, and you may be called on, in a court of justice, to give evidence."

"But I prefer to state now!" almost shouted Sam. "I have a right to clear my own name. I saw Tom Fairfield, wearing that sweater, leave his dormitory on the night the horses were poisoned, and, a little later, I saw him heading for the lane leading to the farm!"

"That's not true!" cried Tom, leaping to his feet.



CHAPTER XV

TOM'S SILENCE

There were subdued murmurings from every student in the chapel. Never, in the history of Elmwood Hall, had there been such an occurrence. An implied charge against one of the school lads—a serious charge; the denial on the part of one to whom suspicion might point, and the retort direct from another. It was unheard of.

Silence followed Tom's dramatic announcement. He remained on his feet, looking at Sam Heller, who also stood, and then the gaze of our hero wandered to the troubled, but still serene, countenance of Doctor Meredith.

"Young gentlemen," began the head of the School gently, "I must ask you to be calm."

"But, Doctor," said Tom respectfully, "I must deny the charge that has been brought against me. I never had the most remote connection with setting the hay stacks afire, nor in poisoning the horses. I cannot make my denial too strong."

"No one has accused you of either crime, my dear boy," said the doctor. "You are a bit too hasty, I fear."

"But Heller has seen fit to say that he suspects me," went on Tom, looking his enemy full in the face.

"No," said Sam, and he could not conceal the triumph in his voice. "I did not say that. What I did say, and what I repeat was, that on the night the horses were poisoned I saw Tom Fairfield leave the dormitory, wearing a sweater like mine, and later I saw him near the lane leading to Mr. Appleby's farm. That's all I care to say."

"And what do you answer to that, Fairfield?" asked the doctor gravely. "Were you or were you not there?"

"I do not see how that affects the matter at all," said Tom, trying to speak calmly. "I, or anyone, might have been in the vicinity of the farm without having had a hand in the poisoning of the horses."

"That is true, but will you answer the question. Were you there?"

"I was not, sir," exclaimed Tom, steadily. There was a breath of relief from Jack and Bert.

"I saw him!" insisted Sam doggedly.

"Are you sure?" asked Doctor Meredith. "Remember this is a serious matter, Heller."

"I am sure, Doctor."

"Perhaps Fairfield can throw more light on the subject," went on the puzzled head master. "Is there any way you can account for Heller's seeming identification? Could anyone else have worn your sweater?" and he looked at Tom.

Once more there was a silence. Tom seemed strangely affected. He took a long breath, and then stammered:

"I—I do not care to state, Doctor Meredith."

"You mean that someone else had your sweater?"

"I prefer not to answer."

"You realize what that means?"

"Yes, I suppose so. It means that I will be suspected of having done these things."

"I am afraid so, yes, Tom, my boy," and the doctor, dropping his more formal tone, addressed Tom almost as if he were his own son. "Not that I believe you guilty," he added. "Far be it from me to suspect one of my students when he has assured me that he is innocent. I have never yet known an Elmwood Hall lad to tell an untruth!" and the doctor drew himself up proudly.

"Therefore, I believe you, Tom," he went on, "but I am in duty bound to point out to you that many will believe you had a hand in this unless—unless you can account for your sweater being worn by someone else, on the night in question, near the farm. Can you?"

Once more a silence. Then Tom said:

"I prefer to say nothing, Doctor."

"Very well. Then this painful scene had best end. I request you all to keep silence on this matter. I will see Mr. Appleby, and explain that all of my students deny having had a hand in this occurence. That should be sufficient for him."

The doctor paused a moment, and then, holding out the gaudily-colored sweater, asked:

"Do you wish to claim this, Tom?"

"Yes, sir, it is mine," and with a steady step Tom walked forward to get the garment. As he went down the aisle toward the rostrum there were one or two faint hisses, that seemed to come from the section where Sam Heller and his cronies sat.

"Silence!" cried Doctor Meredith, in a ringing voice.

The noise subsided. Tom took his garment, and turned back to his seat. As he passed Sam he looked him full in the face, and there was that in the glance which boded no good to that sneaking coward when the tables should be turned.

Had it not been in chapel, and had Tom not held himself well in hand, there might have been a session then and there that Sam Heller would not have liked. His gaze quailed before the steady look of Tom, and as the latter sat down he heard Nick Johnson whisper to Sam:

"Are you sure of what you saw, old man? He might make trouble for you."

"Of course I'm sure. I saw him as plainly as I see you now. He can't bluff out of it. I've got him just where I want him!"

"You think so, do you," murmured Tom to himself. "Well, we'll see, Sam Heller! I've got pluck enough to stand out against you, I think. You can't drive me from Elmwood Hall."

"Young gentlemen, you are dismissed," said the voice of Doctor Meredith, and the students filed from chapel to their various classrooms.

Jack and Bert made a rush for their chum as soon as they were outside the building. Each grabbed an arm, while several of Tom's other friends grouped about him. But it was noticed that some, with whom he had been quite intimate, held aloof, and hurried away. Tom was, but he only smiled.

Another group surrounded Sam Heller, some of whom had never troubled to make his acquaintance before. But they were either curious to hear more of that of which he had spoken, or else were ready to enlist under his banner, as it were.

"By Jove this is bad!" half groaned Bruce Bennington, as he noticed the school split, in the ranks of Sophomores, more especially. "There'll be two factions among the second-year men now if something isn't done to head it off."

"That's right," agreed Reddy Burke. "Confound Tom's stubbornness, anyhow! Why doesn't he say if it was someone else who wore his thunder-and-lightning sweater?"

"Did someone?" asked Bruce, significantly.

"Of course he must have, and Tom is shielding him, I'll wager. You don't s'pose he poisoned those horses; do you?"

"Well—er—Oh, of course not!"

"Then forget it. Things'll come out right sooner or later."

"Later, I'm afraid. And look at the damage that will be done in the meanwhile."

"Well, it can't be helped," and Bruce and Reddy strolled away, not altogether happy.

"Tom, old man!" exclaimed Jack, slipping his arm about his chum, "what's got into you, anyhow?"

"Nothing, Jack."

"Then why don't you come back at Heller and make him out the prevaricator he is?"

Tom did not answer.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" demanded Jack. "Are you going to keep quiet about that sweater?"

"I am afraid I'll have to," said Tom quietly, as he turned aside. "But if you fellows think———"

"Say, if you intimate such a thing as that we believe you guilty I'll punch your face!" cried Jack, with a laugh, in which there was no mirth. "Won't we, Bert?"

"We sure will! Now come on to Latin class;" and with their arms still about their chum, showing their loyalty to him in his time of trouble, the boys passed on across the campus, followed by many eyes.



CHAPTER XVI

TOM SEEKS CLEWS

"Well, Tom, what's the answer; anyhow?"

"Don't talk about it if you don't want to."

Thus Jack and Bert spoke as they entered their room with their chum shortly before luncheon on the day of the sensational disclosures in chapel.

Tom looked at his two friends, and then sank down rather wearily in a chair.

"I don't mind talking about it," he said, with an attempt at a smile. "In fact I was going to propose it myself. I've got some hard work ahead of me."

"What kind?" asked Jack quickly. "Let us help you."

"Sure," chimed in Bert. "Count on us, Tom. What are you going to do?"

"Clear my name, that's what I going to do. And I've got a hard job ahead of me."

"Not with us to help you!" exclaimed Jack.

"That's the worst of it," spoke Tom ruefully. "You fellows can't help me."

"Why not, I'd like to know," came from Bert quickly.

"Well, there are certain reasons. Look here, fellows, I'd tell you in a minute, if I could, but I can't. I'm bound to silence in a way, and I can't speak as I'd like to."

"But surely it oughtn't to be so hard for you to clear your name," insisted Jack. "All you've got to do is to prove that you weren't near the farm at the time the horses were poisoned, nor were you when the stacks caught fire. That ought to be easy."

"And surely you can show that if it wasn't you wearing that sweater, at the time the farmer saw you, it was someone else," went on Bert. "It was someone else; wasn't it, Tom?"

"Say, don't ask me any more questions," begged Tom. "I can't answer 'em all, and I don't want to get tangled up. All I can say is that I didn't have the first thing to do with those crimes, and I'm going to work to prove that I didn't. It's harder than it seems, but I'll do it."

"That's right!" exclaimed Jack. "You've got pluck enough Tom, old man."

"And I may need some luck, too," added our hero. "If I have that I think I'll be all right."

"Not a bad combination," commented Bert. "Pluck and luck. With 'em both you can do a heap."

"That's right," admitted Tom. "And now I'm going to do some boning, and get ahead with my work so I'll have a little time to hunt for clews."

"Clews?" murmured Jack.

"Yes, clews as to who poisoned these horses and set the hay on fire. You see it's not enough to say that I didn't do it. I've got to find the person who did."

"Well, I wish you luck," murmured Jack.

"And if there's anything we can do, don't hesitate to let us know," added Bert, at which his chum nodded.

"Don't let this get on your nerves so you can't play football Saturday," suggested Jack.

"I guess it won't," laughed Tom.

But whether it was the suspicion hanging over him, or because he was nervous, certainly he did not play well in that first gridiron match of the season. Nor was he the only one of the eleven who did poorly.

From the very first it was seen that Elmwood Hall had met her match. Her opponents scored a touchdown in the first five minutes of play, and this rather took the heart out of Tom and his chums.

True they braced, and prevented any more scoring for the next two periods. Then came a chance fer them to rush the ball over the line. Tom worked to his limit and managed to gain much ground. Then came a fatal fumble, just when he might have been shoved over for the tieing of the score.

In his own heart Tom felt that Sam had deliberately passed the ball to him short. Tom had to lean forward to grab it, his foot slipped, and the coveted pigskin was grabbed by an opposing player. It was run out of danger before the man was downed, and then it was too late to make good the loss. Tom groaned in anguish, and for one wild moment he felt like accusing Sam openly.

"No, that would never do," he reasoned. "They would all say I did it for spite, and because he gave that information against me. I've got to grin and bear it."

Nor was Tom much surprised when he was shifted to the scrub at the next practice.

"I hate to do it, old man," said the coach, "but you seem to have gone a bit stale. You aren't overtrained; are you?"

"I don't think so," said Tom bitterly.

"Well, maybe a change will do you good. I'll give you a game later on, if you pick up."

And, deeply regretting what he felt he had to do, the coach went off to talk to the captain about some other changes.

"Say, this is sure tough!" complained Jack to Bert, that night in their room. "Tom off the team!"

"And with this cloud hanging over him," added his chum. "Where is Tom now, anyhow?"

"Give it up. He said he was going for a walk."

"He feels bad I guess. I don't blame him. Say, what do you think of this thing, anyhow, Jack?"

"I don't know, Bert, it—well, hang it all, it looks mighty queer. I might as well say it as think it."

"What! You don't believe Tom guilty; do you?"

"Of course not, and yet he's so plagued stiff he won't say anything, or let us help him. Who do you suppose he's shielding, anyhow?"

"Give it up. If he would only tell a fellow," and Bert stalked about the room in something of a rage against his absent chum.

"While I don't for a second believe Tom had anything to do with this business," went on Jack, "it's up to us, as his friends, to look the thing squarely in the face."

"Yes, I suppose so. But what do you mean?"

"I mean we ought to consider the evidence against him as well as in his favor."

"I suppose so. Well, what's the worst?"

"There are some things we know, that other people don't know," said Jack slowly. "For instance, we know he was out on the night the hay stacks burned."

"Yes, that's right," admitted Bert.

"And he came in, smelling horribly of smoke."

"So he did, but the hay wasn't ablaze until long after he was in, Jack."

"Hay would smoulder a long time. Mind!" Jack added quickly, "I'm not for a minute hinting that Tom did it. I'm only considering what his enemies would say."

"That's right. Well, what else?"

"Well, he was out on the night the horses were poisoned, and he wore that horribly-colored sweater. I don't see what possessed him to buy such a scream of a thing."

"Me either."

"He went out with it," went on Jack slowly, "and he came in without it."

"By Jove! So he did!" cried Bert. "I'd forgotten about that. It begins to look bad."

"Not at all!" cried Jack quickly. "I'm only considering a possible case, mind you. And there's one other point."

"Out with it. We might as well have the worst and then we can begin to work to help him."

"Well, you know that day we came in, and found him doing some experiments?"

"Yes. He was monkeying with———"

"Cyanide," broke in Jack. "The very stuff the horses were poisoned with."

"So he was!" whispered Bert In tense tones. "But for the love of heaven don't tell anyone!"

"No danger. I'm only saying this to show how bad it might be made to look for Tom in case anyone put all these things together."

"But no one will."

"I hope not. And now let's see how we can help him."

"Say, what about the school pin?" asked Bert. "Have you really lost yours?"

"No, I haven't."

"Then why———"

"It's this way," went on Jack. "I saw that Tom's was gone, and, fearing that it might look bad for him, I pretended it was a common thing for us to lose or mislay our emblems."

"You did?"

"Sure. I wasn't going to make it look too bad for Tom."

"That's right. But are you going to mention it to him?"

"I am not—not until this thing is cleared up, anyhow."

"Jove! It looks bad!" murmured Bert.

The two chums talked the matter over from several different standpoints, and the only conclusion they arrived at was that unless Tom gave them more information as to who, if anyone other than himself, wore the sweater on the night in question, they could do nothing.

"Except keep still," suggested Bert.

"Sure," assented Jack.

Several days went by. The first excitement over the implied charges against Tom had died away. Farmer Appleby had wanted to cause the arrest of the lad against whom his suspicions were directed, but his lawyer pointed out that he had such slight evidence that it would be a dangerous proceeding.

But Jack, Bert, George, Bruce Bennington and several of Tom's closest friends stuck to him most loyally. Of course Sam Heller was against our hero, but that was to be expected, and many sided with Sam.

"Fairfield ought to be run out of Elmwood Hall!" exclaimed the bully.

"That's what!" added his crony. "And if he doesn't withdraw soon we'll run him out."

"Will you?" cried Sam. "I'm with you. How can we do it?" and the two went off by themselves to plot.

As Bruce Bennington had feared, there were now two factions in the school, those who were for and against Tom. And it seriously interfered with the work of the eleven. For there were some who hated Sam cordially, and as he was the quarterback of the team there were internal dissensions, and such ragged playing, in consequence, that Elmwood lost many games she should have won.

"Say, this is getting fierce!" cried the coach after a disastrous gridiron battle. "What's to be done? We're in bad shape back of the line."

"Maybe we ought to put Tom back."

"We ought to, and yet I'm afraid if we do it will cause more trouble. But I've a notion to," and they discussed the matter in all its phases.

Meanwhile Tom went on seeking clews, wandering off by himself, lonely at times, but never giving up.

"I'll clear my name yet!" he said to himself, fiercely.



CHAPTER XVII

THE EMPTY BOTTLE

"Great Caesar's grandmother, Jack, why didn't you think of that before?"

"I don't know, Bert. It just seemed to come to me as I sat here thinking about it."

"Well, it's a good thing you think once in a while."

"Why don't you help out then, if you think I don't do enough of it?" asked Jack rather snappily.

"Oh, come now," went on Bert. "I was only joking. I sure am glad you thought of it. It's a wonder some of us didn't fall to that idea before this. We'll tell Tom, as soon as he comes in, and I'll wager that if we go about it right we can clear this thing up in a day or so."

"I'm sure I hope so," assented Jack. "It's getting on my nerves as well as on Tom's."

"Yes, and I guess every fellow in college will be glad to know the truth of it. Why, the team's going to pieces just on account of this miserable horse-poisoning case, and the burning of a little hay."

"Still, it did look black for Tom, especially when he had that quarrel with Appleby over the trampled corn, and made some remarks about getting even because he had to pay for it."

"Yes, that was where Tom made a mistake. I guess he's ready to admit that himself," and Bert paced the room. "I wish he'd come, so we could tell him," he added. "Do you know where he is?"

"No, except that he said he was going off alone to take a walk, as he's done several times of late. I offered to go along, but he said he wanted to be by himself, so I didn't urge it."

"Off getting clews, I expect."

"Yes," assented Jack.

The two chums sat silent in the room, waiting for the lad whom they both loved even better than a brother. The past days had been trying on all of them—on every one in Elmwood Hall—from the most lordly Senior, or calm post-graduate, to the "fuzziest" Freshman, who thought he bore the weight of the whole school on his narrow shoulders.

For one and all felt the stigma that rested upon the institution—Tom most of all. True, as it happened, the affair was not as serious as had at first seemed. Only one of the farmer's horses died, and that was not a very valuable beast. The others had been very sick, though.

Fortunately, however, most of the fall crops were in, and the fact of not having his steeds to work for him did not seriously inconvenience Mr. Appleby. His neighbors helped him with the loan of their horses.

Still the farmer was a vindictive man, and he determined to have punished, if possible, the guilty person. That it was Tom, with whom he had quarreled, he had no doubt.

And, it might be added, though most of the students bore in mind the injunction of Dr. Meredith not to talk about the matter, and make useless accusations, Sam Heller and his cronies, did not observe that silence. Indeed, Sam even went to the trouble of repeating to Mr. Appleby all the evidence he had discovered against our hero.

"Oh, I know he's guilty!" the vindictive farmer had said, when Sam and his crony called at the house one day, ostensibly to ask for a drink of water, but in reality to talk of Tom. "I know he's guilty, but my lawyer won't let me have him up on charges. He says I might get sued."

"Oh, I guess you could win the case," asserted Sam. He was aching to see Tom humiliated further. But the farmer shook his head.

"I've lost a heap of money already," he complained, "an' I ain't a-goin' t' lose no more!"

And thus the case stood when Jack had his inspiration, as he sat in the gloaming with his chum Bert.

"Here he comes!" exclaimed the latter, as a footfall was heard in the corridor.

"Yes, that's Tom. Now to tell him."

"Well, Tom, how goes it?" asked Jack, as he arose to open the door in response to the code knock. "Anything new?"

"I don't know, yet, but I think—why, what's up?" he asked quickly, surprised at the looks on the faces of his chums.

"You tell him, Jack," insisted Bert generously. "You thought of it."

"It's only this," said Jack modestly. "I've been thinking over this confounded thing, as of course you have, and I've come to the sudden conclusion that it was Sam Heller who poisoned those horses."

"Sam Heller?" cried Tom. "What makes you think so?"

"Several reasons," insisted Jack. "Sit down and I'll tell you about 'em.

"Now, to begin at the beginning, who else but Sam would want to throw the blame on you, Tom?"

"No one, I suppose, unless it was Nick. And even he hasn't the grudge against me that Sam has."

"Right. It was all to Sam's interest to make it appear that you were guilty, and things just fitted in with his scheme. There was your quarrel with the farmer, your threats to get even which you foolishly uttered in public———"

"Yes, that's where I was wrong," admitted Tom with a sigh.

"And there's another thing, Tom," went on Jack. "About your school pin. Where is it?"

"Well, to tell you the truth," said Jack with a smile and a blush, "I loaned it to a girl I met at a dance. She took quite a fancy to it."

"Then you didn't drop it at the hay stacks?"

"No, indeed! Was that why you made believe you couldn't find yours?" asked Tom.

"Sure it was. I thought———"

"You old Damon and Pythias!" cried Tom, obviously much pleased. "But it was a useless sacrifice."

"Then whose pin was it that Appleby found?" asked Bert.

"Give it up," spoke Tom.

"But then there's that sweater business," went on Jack, after a pause.

"If you'd only explain that," put in Bert. Tom shook his head.

"I can't—not yet," he said. "But go on. What other evidence have you that Sam is guilty?"

"No other direct evidence, perhaps," admitted Jack, "but, somehow I just feel in my bones that Sam poisoned those horses, and threw the blame on you. He must have seen you leave here with that sweater on, and come back without it. It was just pie for him to say what he did."

Tom slowly shook his head.

"What? Don't you believe Sam guilty?" asked Bert.

"No, I can't say that I do."

"But he is!" asserted Jack. "It was his sweater the farmer saw instead of yours. You're both about the same height and build. Of course Sam did it, Tom."

"No, I can't agree with you. I'll admit I did wear my sweater when I left here the night the horses were poisoned, and I came back without it, but———"

"What in the world happened to it?" demanded Jack.

"That I can't say—yet."

"Will you ever be able to?" Bert wanted to know.

"I hope to in time—perhaps soon now. Mr. Appleby picked it up—that much I'll have to admit."

"And can you clear your name?" asked Jack, rather rueful that the fine theory he had built up was thus easily passed over by his chum.

"I hope to, Jack."

"Have you any new clews?" asked Bert. "I presume that's what you've been looking for?"

"Yes, I did go off hunting for them," said Tom slowly.

"Well, did you find any?" burst out Jack. "Can't you relieve the suspense?"

"I found this," said Tom, placing an empty bottle on the table.

"Why—why, there's nothing in it!" exclaimed Jack, looking at it. "How can that form a clew?"

"Not because of what is in it but what was in it," said Tom with a smile. "Unless I'm mistaken this will help to prove my innocence—that is, if the experiment I'm going to try works out. We'll soon see. I wonder if the laboratory is closed," and he went out into the corridor.



CHAPTER XVIII

ON THE TRAIL

"What's he up to now?" asked Bert of Jack, as the two stood in the room, looking at one another.

"Give up. We'll have to wait and see. It's something important though, to judge by Tom's actions."

"Yes, but an empty bottle! What can he hope to do with that for a clew?"

"I don't know. Leave it to Tom."

The latter came back in a little while, carrying several bottles, test tubes and an alcohol lamp.

"Well, for the class's sake!" cried Jack. "Are you going to give us a demonstration of the action of liquids on solids?"

"No, I'm going to prove that mind is superior to matter," laughed Tom.

"Say, it sounds good to hear that!" cried Jack. "You haven't laughed before in two weeks."

"Well, I feel a bit like it now," said Tom. "I'm beginning to get a glimpse of daylight in this darkness."

He arranged his material on the table in front of him, having removed the books and papers. Then, taking a bottle of some colorless liquid which he had brought from the college laboratory, he poured some into the apparently empty bottle he had first exhibited.

"What's that?" asked Bert.

"Sterilized water."

"Say, where did you find that bottle?" demanded Jack.

"In Farmer Appleby's barn," was the calm rejoinder. "I picked it up just by chance, but it may mean something big."

"What?" cried Jack. "You don't mean to say you've been around there?"

"Surely. Why not?"

"Why, he might think you wanted to do away with the rest of his horses."

"He didn't see me. I took care of that. Besides that's the only place where I can consistently look for clews. I was sure whoever poisoned the horses must have left some trace behind him, and this may be it."

"The empty bottle?" asked Bert incredulously.

"It may not be altogether empty," replied Tom. "That's what I'm going to test for. I saw traces of some powder on the sides, and I want to see if my suspicions are true."

"Then you think it contained——" began Jack.

"I'm not going to think anything until I finish this experiment," laughed Tom.

He shook the sterilized water about in the bottle, rinsing it well, and the contents he then poured into a test tube. This, after heating, he mixed with some other chemicals.

"Would you mind telling us what you're testing for?" asked Jack.

"Not at all," said Tom quietly. "I'm trying to see if this bottle had any cyanide of potassium in it."

"What! Cyanide?" gasped Bert.

"The stuff that killed the one horse and sickened the others?" asked Jack.

"That's it. I may find it—I may not."

Tom poured a few drops of another chemical into the test tube. There was a reaction, and at once he uttered a cry:

"There it is!" he fairly shouted. "I'm on the right trail at last! There was cyanide in the bottle!"

"There sure was," agreed Jack, who had seen the same test made in one of the classes a few days before.

"But I don't see what good that is," remarked Bert. "Everyone knew that cyanide was used on the horses. It's a common enough poison. Naturally whoever used it would have it in a bottle. Then you accidentally find the bottle in the stable, but that doesn't tell you who dropped it there."

"No, but this may," said Tom quietly, taking a small piece of paper from his pocket and smoothing it out on the table.

"What is it?" asked Jack, and then, before he could be answered he added. "Oh, I see, part of a druggist's label."

"Yes," admitted Tom. "It was near the bottle. It had been washed off, I imagine. I didn't show it to you at first, for I wanted to make sure of what the bottle had contained."

"And now that you're sure," began Bert, "I suppose———"

"I'm going to the druggist who sold this, and ask if he can remember who bought it," went on Tom, for, though the label from the bottle was torn, there was enough of it left to show part of the firm name. And, as there were but three drug shops in Elmwood, it was not difficult to pick out the one represented.

"We'll go with you!" exclaimed Jack. "Hurray, Tom! I do believe you're on the trail at last."

"Sure," assented Bert. "Let's go at once."

"I'd like to have you along," explained Tom, "but I think maybe I'd better go by myself. I've got to go at this thing quietly, and if three of us trooped in the drug store, and began asking questions, it would make a scene. Besides, lots of our fellows hang out there for soda, and they'd see us. I don't want this talked about until I get it a little more cleared up. I don't want you fellows to feel that———"

"Oh get out!" interrupted Jack. "You do just as you please, Tom, and we'll fill in, or play wherever you want us. This is your game, anyhow, though we want to help you all we can. Just say the word."

"That's good of you," assented our hero. "I think it would be best if I went alone. I'll tell you later what I find out. I think I'll go now. It isn't too late."

"It's after hours," said Bert.

"Well, I'll take a chance," decided Tom, and putting on his hat and coat he prepared to leave the dormitory, first having ascertained that the coast was clear.

Tom was half way down the corridor of the building where he and his chums roomed, and he was thinking of what might come from his prospective interview with the druggist, when, as he turned a dark corner, he ran full tilt into someone who was coming with some speed in the other direction.

"Wha—what's the matter! Who—who are you?" gasped Tom, when he had recovered his breath.

"I—I—who are you?" came the quick retort, and the voice was suspicious. Whoever it was evidently was not going to be caught by a prowling monitor.

"George Abbot!" gasped Tom, as he recognized the voice of his chum. "What in the world is the rush? What's the hurry?"

"News! I've got great news!" cried George. "Cats! But you knocked the wind out of me all right. I—I was coming fast myself, I guess. Where are you going?"

"Out," replied Tom briefly. "But what's the news?"

"Better not go," advised George, speaking more composedly now. "There's been a lot of fellows cutting for it to-night, and just before I came in a bunch was rounded up by the proctor, and rushed to Merry's office. I just escaped. Don't you take a chance, Tom."

"No, I guess I'd better not. But was that the news you had to tell me. If it is, why——"

"It isn't that," cried George. "It's great. Sam Heller was just brought across the campus by old Farmer Appleby. He had him by the collar."

"Who had who by the collar?" demanded Tom, much excited now. "Did Sam have———"

"No, it was the other way around. Appleby had Sam, and he was making all sorts of threats."

"Who was; Sam?"

"No, the old farmer. Can't you understand? He had Sam, and he was begging to be let go."

"Sam was?"

"Sure."

"Say, George," advised Tom. "Calm down and tell me the whole thing. There may be something big in this. I guess I won't go out to-night after all," and, grasping the human question box by the arm, Tom led him back toward the room of the chums.



CHAPTER XIX

DISAPPOINTMENT

"Hello! What's up?"

"What's the excitement, Tom?"

Thus his two chums greeted our hero when he entered with the human interrogation mark in tow.

"Something doing," responded Tom briefly.

"Did you trace the empty bottle so soon?" asked Jack.

"No, I didn't have time. But George here—out with it! Tell 'em what you told me."

"I was coming along," began George, "when Tom ran into me and knocked———"

"Never mind those horrible details," advised Tom, reflectively rubbing that portion of his anatomy that had come in contact with George. "Cut along faster."

"Well, I was coming to tell Tom that I saw Sam Heller being taken to the doctor's office by old Appleby," went on George.

"Get out!" cried Bert, incredulously.

"Sam Heller!" gasped Jack. "I wonder if Appleby's found out that it was Sam who poisoned his horses, and set the hay on fire?"

"That's it, I believe," said George. "That's why I came to tell Tom. You're cleared all right now, old man."

His chums looked at him, but Tom only shook his head. "No such luck," he said in disappointed tones. "Sam may have been corralled by the old farmer, but it's for something else besides the fire and poisoning."

"What makes you think so?" asked Jack. "Why won't you believe Sam Heller guilty, Tom."

"Because I know he isn't."

"You do? Then you must know who is."

"No, that doesn't follow."

"Look here!" cried Jack, coming close to his chum, and placing his hands on his shoulders, the while looking him squarely into the eyes. "I can't understand you. Here you go and say Sam isn't guilty, and you know it. And yet you say you don't know who did the business. You didn't do it yourself, I'm sure, and yet———"

"Say Jack," spoke Tom gently. "Believe me, if I was sure of what I only suspect now I couldn't really tell who poisoned those horses. There's a mystery about it, and I'm trying to get to the bottom of it. I want my name cleared more than anything else in the world, but I want it done in the right way. I don't want to cast suspicion on the wrong person. Now, George, tell us all you know about Sam being caught. It may help some."

"Well, I don't know an awful lot," went on George, as he accepted a chair that Jack pushed out for him. "I was coming in from a little trip to town when I saw, coming across the campus, two fellows—at least I thought they were two of our fellows, but when they got under one of the lights I saw it was Sam and the old farmer. And, believe me, Appleby had hold of Sam as if he was a thief and him the constable."

"As if Appleby was the thief?" asked Bert.

"No, as if Sam was. What's the matter with you fellows, anyhow, that you can't understand United States talk?" and George looked around half indignantly.

"The trouble is that you mix up your pronouns," said Tom. "Go ahead. We got as far as that Appleby had hold of Sam as if Sam was a thief."

"Yes, and Sam was demanding to be let go, while the old farmer was saying: 'Now I've got ye! Consarn ye! I'll teach ye t' come sneakin' around my place! I'll have ye up afore th' doctor'!"

The boys all laughed at George's realistic imitation of the farmer's talk, for it was quite correct.

"And then what happened?" asked Jack.

"That's all, except that I came on here in a hurry, and Sam was fairly dragged into the doctor's office by Appleby."

There was silence in the room of the chums for a moment, and then Bert remarked:

"Well, Tom, what do you make of it?"

"I don't know," was the answer, slowly given. "It looks queer, and yet Sam may have only trespassed on Appleby's place by chance."

"Don't you believe it!" exclaimed Jack. "He had some object all right."

"And it's up to us to find out what it is," added Bert.

"No, I'll try it," insisted Tom. "This is my game."

"But we're going to help you play it!" exclaimed Jack. "What's the matter with you, anyhow? Don't you want us to help you clear yourself of this suspicion that's hanging over you?"

"Of course I do, but———"

"'But me no buts,' old man. Just you let us help you out in this. Now it wouldn't look well for you to go around sneaking under the doctor's windows, trying to hear what's going on. But it wouldn't hurt either of us," and he indicated, by a sweeping gesture, himself and his two close chums.

"So, Tom, my boy," he went on, "we'll just see what we can learn. The doctor's sure to hold an audience with Appleby and Sam in the big front office, and he always has a window open, for Merry is a fresh air fiend, you know. Some of the talk will leak out and it may give us a clew."

"All right," assented Tom, after a moment's thought. "Go ahead. I don't believe it will amount to anything, though. Then I can go on with my drug store end of it," and he briefly explained to George where he had been headed for when the interruption came.

"Shall we all go?" asked Bert. "Won't it look sort of queer for three of us to be hanging around the doctor's house?"

"It will," assented Jack, "and, therefore, we won't all hang out in the same place. I'll get under the big office window; Bert, you can take the window on the other side, and George will guard the front door."

"Guard the front door? For what?"

"Well, just sort of drape yourself around it," suggested Jack, who had assumed the direction of matters. "Maybe you can overhear something as Sam and Appleby come out. I don't just like this sort of thing," he added, "but the end justifies the means, I think."

Tom nodded gravely. The stain against his name had affected him more than he cared to admit. The three lads went out and Tom sat down in moody silence to await their return. They were not long away, and came back together, rather silent.

"Well?" asked Tom questioningly, as his chums entered.

"Nothing much," answered Jack in despondent tones. "We were almost too late, but I did manage to overhear something. Sam and Appleby came out a short time after we got there. It seems that the farmer caught Sam sneaking around his barn, and as he's been suspicious, and on the watch ever since the poisoning of his horses, he rushed out in a hurry and collared him."

"What explanation did Sam make?" asked Tom.

"All I could hear was that it was a mistake, and that he wandered off the road in the darkness."

"The same as we did when we got in the corn," said Tom. "So that's all there was to it?"

"Except that Appleby was ripping mad, and threatened to have the next school lad arrested whom he found on his property. We'll have to make a new course for cross-country runs after this I guess, for we used to run across his big meadow."

"Yes," assented Tom. "Well, I didn't think it would amount to anything. I'm much obliged, though."

"You wait!" insisted Jack. "This isn't the bottom of it yet, not by a long shot."

"What do you mean?" asked Tom curiously.

"I mean that Sam isn't such a loon as to get off the road on to Appleby's land just by mistake, or because it was dark."

"You mean he went there purposely?"

"I sure do."

"What for?" and Tom gazed curiously at his chum.

"That's what I've got to find out. He had some object, and I shouldn't be surprised but what it was you, Tom."

"Me?"

"Yes. He hasn't succeeded in driving you out of the Hall as he hoped, and now he's up to some more mean tricks."

Tom shook his head. He had a curious disbelief in Sam's guilt.

"Go ahead on that line if you like, Jack," he said. "But I can't agree with you. I'm going to follow my bottle clew to-morrow, and nothing the others could say would make Tom admit that Sam had a hand in poisoning the horses, or in setting the hay on fire.

"But look how ready he was to accuse you," insisted Bert.

"That was only to clear himself," said Tom. "The fact of his sweater being like mine was a strange coincidence, and he had to say something."

"He was ready enough to accuse you," put in Jack. "Say, Tom, old man, why don't you come out and tell us where you went that night—and why? Tell us what you did—how your sweater got away from you, and was found on the farm. Go ahead!"

"Do!" urged Bert.

But Tom shook his head.

"I can't—not yet," he said. "I promised Ray———"

He stopped suddenly. His chums leaned forward eagerly.

"Well, I can't say any more," he finished. "Now let's forget all this, and have a game of chess, somebody. It will make me sleep good."

"I'm going to cut," said George. "You fellows can play."

Tom and Jack sat down to the royal game, while Bert got out a book, and for a time silence reigned in the apartment.

Tom made an early trip to town the next day. He went directly to the drugstore, the torn label of which was on the bottle he had found to contain a trace of poison.

Without going into details, but announcing who he was, he asked if the druggist could give him any information as to who had bought the cyanide.

"Well, I can look at my records," said the pharmacist. "I keep a list of all persons to whom I sell poison, and make them sign a receipt for it. Of course I have no means of knowing that the names are true ones. There are some poisons I sell only on a doctor's prescription, but it is not against the local law to dispense cyanide, and it has many legitimate uses. I'll look it up for you."

He disappeared behind his ground-glass partition, to return presently, announcing:

"My clerk made that sale. He'll be in presently, and he can tell you who bought the stuff. The name signed is Jacob Crouse, however."

"Jacob Crouse," mused Tom, and he slowly shook his head. Yet there was a gleam of hope in his eyes. "Maybe it isn't him after all."

Tom spent a fretful half hour, waiting for the clerk to come in, and he was nervous lest some of the school lads enter and question him as to his presence in the place. For Tom was not anxious that his errand be known except to his chums. But none from Elmwood Hall came in, and shortly the clerk arrived. There was a whispered conference between him and the proprietor, and the clerk addressed Tom.

"You wish to know who bought cyanide, some time ago?" asked the young man.

"Yes," said Tom. "Can you describe Jacob Crouse?"

"I don't know that he gave me the right name," said the clerk. "In fact I suspect he didn't. But he was a young fellow, about your own age and build."

"He was!" exclaimed Tom, and his voice showed disappointment.

"Yes, but he was not so well dressed. In fact he was rather shabby. He said he wanted the stuff to kill rats, and asked the best way to prepare it. I tried to sell him some regular rat poison, but he wanted the cyanide. I told him to mix it with corn meal. He said there were lots of rats on his father's farm."

"He said that?" cried Tom.

"Yes. Oh, they make up all sorts of stories when they want to get suspicious stuff, though there's no law here against cyanide. Why, did some one of your friends poison someone, or commit suicide?"

"Oh, not as bad as that," replied Tom. "Is that all you can tell me about this—this person?"

[Transcriber's note: The next piece of text has several missing fragments, which seem to have been caused during printing. I have indicated the missing text with brackets.]

"Well, about all—hold on, though, he had a big scar on—let me see—on his left cheek. It extended from his eye almost to his [missing words] livid, ugly scar."

[missing line]

[missing words] good! [missing words] I'm much obliged to you, and with a smile of hope our hero hurried from the drug store, followed by the curious glances of the proprietor and the clerk.



CHAPTER XX

MORE SEEKING

Tom Fairfield hurried on back toward Elmwood Hall. His brain was busy with many thoughts. At first he felt a spirit of elation.

"A scar—a big scar," he murmured. "Then it couldn't have been him, unless he got hurt after I saw him. And yet if he had, it was too short a time for a scar to form. The clerk would have said a wound, and not a scar. And yet—oh, I'm not sure after all! It may have been him, and he may have gotten into a fight after he left me. He was desperate. And until I am sure it wasn't him I can't say anything, for mother's sake, as well as his. I can't bring disgrace on her, even though I suffer myself. Oh, hang it all! If I hadn't had that quarrel with Appleby they never would have suspected me, and I wouldn't have had all this trouble."

Poor Tom, hardly knowing what to do, or which way to turn, flung himself down on the couch in his room, and thought deeply. Neither Jack nor Bert was in and the apartment was quiet.

"If I could only reach him," mused Tom, "I could get him to explain, or even come here and clear me. And yet I can't even say I met him, and helped him, on account of my promise, and what saying such a thing would mean. But he might release me from my promise, and even help me to prove my innocence."

Then Tom thought of other things—of how much easier it would be to drop out of school entirely and let matters take their course.

"But I won't!" he exclaimed, sitting up and clenching his fists. "I'm in this fight to stay. I'm going to clear my name and do it in the right way. To leave now would be to do just what Sam Heller most wants, and I won't give him that satisfaction. I'll stick!"

Jack and Bert came bursting in, having heard from George that Tom was back.

"Any luck?" asked Jack, for they knew of Tom's trip to the drug store.

"Well, in a way, yes, and yet not. I found out who bought the poison."

"Was it Sam Heller?" asked Bert eagerly.

"No," answered Tom. "Haven't I told you that I'm sure he hadn't any hand in it?"

"You wait and see," advised Jack. "I think you're away off, Tom. But say, you want to come out to football practice this afternoon. Strict orders for everyone to be on the job."

"Oh, what's the use?"

"Lots! What's getting into you lately?" asked Bert.

"Oh, you know how it is. Sam is sure to try to make a fumble for me; and what's the fun of playing when you don't know what minute you'll lose the game?"

"Why don't you complain of him to Morse, or Mr. Jackson?" asked Jack.

"What good would it do? Sam would get on his ear, and say I was away off. Then, too, almost everyone would say I was doing spite work. No, I guess I'll just keep out of the game."

"No, you won't!" exclaimed Jack with a laugh. "You'll come out to practice, and Bert and I will watch Sam as a cat does a mouse. He'll get no chance to try any of his tricks."

Thus urged, Tom gave in, and donned his suit. The practice was hard and snappy that afternoon against the scrub. The regular eleven, made desperate by the recent drubbings administered to it, played fiercely, with the result that several touchdowns were scored.

"This is something like!" exulted the coach.

"Yes, if they'll only keep it up and play like this on Saturday," assented Captain Morse Denton. "But I'm afraid of a slump."

"Oh, I guess not. Say! Look at Tom go through with the ball."

"Yes. He's playing better. I'm sorry he and Sam are on the outs. I'm always afraid of a clash."

"Yes, that's likely. See him go! Say! if he'll play that way Saturday we'll wipe up the gridiron with Holwell."

"Let's hope so!" exclaimed the captain.

Indeed, Tom was playing as he had seldom played before. And Sam was passing the ball to him accurately. There was not a fumble.

Perhaps it was because he realized that he was being narrowly-watched, not only by Tom but by Bert and Jack as well. In fact Jack, at the beginning of practice, had taken the opportunity to whisper into Sam's ear:

"None of your funny business now!"

"What do you mean?" asked Sam with a show of innocence.

"Oh, you know very well what I mean," insisted Jack. "If you fumble the ball when you're passing it to me, or Tom or Bert, I'll see you afterward, and it won't be a pleasant interview, either," and Jack playfully dug Sam in the ribs.

"Here! What are you doing?" demanded the quarterback.

"That's a sample of what to expect," said Jack grimly.

And so the practice went on, hard, and fast, and the hearts of the coach, captain and players were glad, for they felt that Elmwood Hall was coming back into her own. Even hazing, which went on intermittently, ceased in favor of football practice.

Meanwhile nothing more had been heard about the hay fire, the poisoning of the horses, nor about Sam's trouble with the old farmer. In regard to the latter, Sam had boastingly explained to his chums, whence it sifted to our friends, that he had gotten the best of Appleby.

"The old codger!" Sam exclaimed. "I didn't hurt his land anyhow. It was so all-fired dark that I couldn't see where I was going."

"What were you doing over there?" asked one of his few admirers—one who hoped for a ride in Sam's auto.

"Oh, just out for my health," replied Sam, with a wink at his crony, Nick.

As to Tom's position, it was the same as it had been. No official action had been taken against him—indeed none could be, since there was no good evidence to connect him with the crime. And yet he was suspected, and could not seem to prove his innocence.

"It's the queerest thing why he won't tell about where he went that night when he came in, smelling of smoke, and later, how he lost his sweater," commented Jack to Bert. "If I didn't know Tom, I'd say he had some hand in the business."

"And yet Tom didn't. And it wasn't his pin."

"Of course not. But a lot of the fellows think he's guilty. And Sam keeps his crowd on edge about it. He's always referring to Tom as the 'poisoner' and so he keeps the thing alive, when, if it wasn't mentioned, it might die out."

"That's right. The mean sneak! And yet I guess Tom would rather have it kept alive until he makes out his case, than to have it die down, and the suspicion still be against him."

"Oh, of course. And yet it doesn't seem as if he had a chance to make good."

"Oh, you leave it to Tom," said Bert. "He's got pluck, and if he has any decent sort of luck he'll pull out ahead."

"Well, maybe. Tom Fairfield's luck is proverbial you know. Look how he came out ahead in the shipwreck, and the finding of the treasure in the old mill."