LITMIR.BIZ

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to lure the panting man on.

      "If I ever git my hands on ye you'll go to jail!" declared the farmer. "I'll learn you pesky rascals a lesson!"

      "Teach—not learn, uncle," Harry flung back. "You should be more careful about your grammar."

      "I believe you are one of them consarned student fellers."

      "You are a wonderful guesser."

      "If I can't ketch ye I'll report ye."

      When he had lead the man far enough so that he was sure the other fellows had plenty of start, Harry tossed aside the gun, which was an old muzzle-loading, single-barreled affair.

      The panting farmer stopped and picked up the gun, then he stood and shook his fist at Rattleton, who was speeding away like a deer.

      "Oh, I'll report ye—I will, by jee!" he vowed over and over.

      In the meantime Merriwell had had a most exciting adventure. He had found the turkey roost and had selected the biggest old gobbler of them all. But the gobbler was a hard customer and he showed fight, whereupon there was a general squawking and squalling.

      Clinging to his capture, Frank made a dash for the door. He tripped and fell, and it is certain that by falling he saved himself from carrying off a charge of shot, if not from death. He had tripped over a rope that connected with a spring gun, which was discharged, and some of the shot tore through his coat sleeve.

      Then he heard the dog, and he knew he was in for a hot time. He gave the old gobbler's neck a fierce wring, then dropped the turkey just in time to meet the dog.

      The creature sprang for Frank's throat, and the boy struck him with the club which he had brought along. The dog dropped to the ground, but immediately made another dash. Frank was fortunate in getting in a lick that stretched the animal quivering on the ground.

      He could hear Rattleton and Robinson whooping wildly, but he knew no time was to be lost in getting away, so he caugh up the gobbler and ran.

      Frank heard the farmer calling for him to stop, but, with Mr. Gobbler dangling on his back, he fled the faster.

      The gun spoke, but he was not touched, and he did not stop to look around, so he did not know how Harry had saved him.

      Three-quarters of an hour later the five fellows who had started out on the turkey chase met on the outskirts of New Haven. They came up one at a time, Rattleton being the last to appear. There was a general feeling of relief when it was found that all were there safe and sound.

      It was decided that they should go into the city one at a time, taking different routes. Frank believed he could reach the house without being stopped, although it would be no very easy job.

      He was remarkably successful until he was on York Street and close to Mrs. Harrington's. The street seemed clear, and he wondered where all the fellows could be, when of a sudden a tall form in dark clothes stepped right out before him. He gave a gasp, for at a glance he seemed to recognize one of the professors.

      "Young man," sternly said a familiar voice, "what have you there?"

      "It's Professor Grant!" thought Frank, aghast.

      The professor blocked his way. What could he do?

      Quick as a flash he swung the gobbler around and struck his challenger a smashing blow with it, knocking him sprawling.

      Then he took to his heels, still holding fast to his capture.

      In a moment he heard the sound of feet in pursuit, and he knew the outraged professor was after him.

      Frank's heart was in his mouth, and he 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.

       Table of Contents

      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 Walter Gordon was there. Jack Diamond was also present.

      Frank found an opportunity to get close to Dismal and whisper in his ear:

      "Great Caesar, old man! why did you invite Gordon here?"

      "I did not."

      "Then how does he happen to be here? He didn't come without an invitation, I am sure of that."

      "He was in Billy's when I asked Put to come up. I knew you would like to have Put here."

      "That's all right."

      "Well, Put asked Gordon to come along before I could prevent it. Of course I didn't have the crust to make any objection after that."

      "I should say not! It's all right, but you want to remember that the sophs found out something was going on. Did Gordon come right along with you?"

      "No. He said he'd have to go to his room, but he showed up a few minutes after we arrived here."

      "Lots of mischief can be done in a few minutes. Did he know just what was going on here?"

      "Well, he knew somebody had gone out into the country to swipe something for a feast."

      "And it is pretty plain that the sophs became aware of the same fact. Here is food for reflection, Dismal."

      "You are right."

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