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was true. Pawnee, as Harris had declared, proved unequal to the task of holding the lead. In the second quarter Fanny D. crept alongside and gradually forged ahead, for all that Black Boy's rider used whip and voice.

      Poor old Lightfoot was steadily losing ground, and Hartwick ground his teeth as he saw Nemo come into fourth place. Still it did not seem that Merriwell's horse had made a spurt.

      And then, as the horses came thundering down the track, a sudden change seemed to come over the black boy on Nemo's back. He leaned far forward, and appeared to be talking into Nemo's ears, which were laid almost straight back. He cut the air with his whip, but the lash did not fall on the glossy coat of the handsome animal.

      "Look!" palpitated Harlow. "See Nemo! The creature has awakened! That horse is all right! Hartwick, I believe Merriwell will secure third money, after all."

      "Not on your life!" ground forth Evan, his eyes glaring. "The creature is doing his best now."

      As the foremost racers shot past the judges' stand at the expiration of the first half, it was seen that Fanny D. had taken the lead away from Pawnee, while Black Boy was steadily gaining. Although Nemo had shown a streak of speed he had not grown dangerous.

      But now came the time when the mettle of the racers was to be tested. Black Boy responded nobly to whip and voice. He went ahead in a marvelous manner. He was soon nose and nose with Pawnee, and then he took second place, with his nose at Fanny D.'s flank.

      But there was another change. Again the black boy on the back of Frank Merriwell's racer leaned forward and talked into the ears of the horse, and then came a spurt that caused hundreds of spectators to gasp with amazement.

      Pawnee struggled nobly to hold third place, but Nemo passed him, and Evan Hartwick nearly choked with fury. Then it was seen that Nemo was gaining on the others. He crept up beside Black Boy till they were nearly even, and thus the two animals passed Fanny D. at the end of the third quarter.

      When the home stretch was reached Black Boy was leading by a neck, with Nemo second and Fanny D. third.

      Evan Hartwick was nearly beside himself with rage. The language that came from his lips cannot be printed here. In vain his companions tried to calm him. He cursed them both, and struck at them.

      Then the voice of another person was heard.

      "I slipped on the trick, boss. They caught me, and they didn't do a thing to me—not a thing! My head was near broke and they made me take a bite outer ther apple I was tryin' to feed ther horse. It'd killed me if they'd made me eat ther whole of the apple. I'm sorry, but——"

      It was Mike Hogan, his brutal face pale and drawn, if he were, indeed, ill, and a bloody handkerchief tied about his head.

      "Your head was near broken!" snarled Hartwick. "You bungling fool! I'll finish the job!"

      And then he hit Mike in the face with his fist. They grappled and fell, and, as the other lads were trying to pull them apart, there came a great shout that announced the race was over. The crowd was heard cheering.

      "Which won?" was the question Harlow paused to ask.

      "Nemo came in first by a full length," replied a spectator.

      Then Hogan was dragged off Hartwick, who lay pallid and still on his back, looking as if the end had come for him.

      Two nights later a jolly party gathered in Frank Merriwell's room to offer him congratulations. There were speeches, songs, toasts and jests.

      "How much will you take for Nemo now, Merriwell?" asked Jack Diamond. "I want to buy him and send him South to my father."

      "You can't," laughed Frank. "Your father hasn't money enough to buy the dear old boy."

      "But what are you going to do with him?" asked Rattleton. "You must think of the future."

      "Not now," smiled Merriwell. "To-morrow is my queen's birthday, and I am thinking of the present."

      Bruce Browning loafed into the room.

      "Heard the news, fellows?" he asked.

      "No; what is it?" cried several voices.

      "Hartwick's been arrested."

      "Arrested? What for?"

      "For robbing his own father of seven thousand dollars. He knew how to get at the old gentleman's dough, and he swiped it several days ago. He's been burning money since then."

      "Was the robbery committed before the Mystic Park races?" asked Frank.

      "Sure, my boy."

      "Then that explains why the mysterious man in black followed me up and drove me into so many bets. He had Hartwick's money, and Hartwick was behind the entire game. Well, all his plots miscarried and he got it in the neck at last."

      "Which served him right," declared Jack Diamond, with satisfaction.

      CHAPTER IX.

       A STRONG ACCUSATION.

       Table of Contents

      After the great horse race matters moved along smoothly for some time.

      Frank worked hard over his studies and made fine progress.

      He did not dare race Nemo again, for the college authorities would not permit it, in the face of what had been said about betting.

      Frank had gotten rid of some of his enemies for the time being, but there were others, those who could not stand it to see him become such a general hero.

      One evening a crowd of these gathered in a resort known as Jackson's. All had been drinking freely, and it was not long before every tongue was loosened.

      In the crowd were several students that my old readers have met before. They included a hot-headed lad named Tom Thornton, a fussy fellow called Puss Parker, and Fred Flemming, Willis Paulding, Andy Emery and Tad Horner.

      Earlier in the evening they had met at Morey's, but found they could not talk privately there, as the place was filled with students.

      Then Thornton had given them the tip to go down to Jackson's, a place sometimes patronized by the students, although it did not exclude the general public.

      Jackson's was known as a "joint," and very few of the college lads cared to have it known that they ever went there; but it was a place where a private room could be obtained in which to drink, gamble, or carouse, and for this reason it appealed to a certain class of students.

      It was in this place that Frank had exposed the gambler, Rolf Harlow, and broken up the game by which Harlow and Harris were bleeding a certain number of "lambs."

      In getting together his party, Thornton had chosen the ones who seemed to have sympathy with himself and Fred Flemming, or held a grudge against Frank Merriwell.

      Merriwell's name had not been mentioned until all had indulged very freely in wine, Thornton being the most generous in "blowing off."

      Then came a discussion about college sports, over which all had grown more or less heated. At length Merriwell's name was mentioned, and then Thornton declared Frank a cad.

      "By Jawve!" drawled Willis Paulding, allowing cigarette smoke to escape from his mouth as he spoke, "I agree with you, Thornton, don't yer 'now. I nevah could bear that fellaw Merriwell."

      Tad Horner gave a sniff.

      "Merriwell would feel bad if he knew it," observed Tad, sarcastically. "It would break him all up."

      "That would not make the least difference to me, my dear fellaw," declared Willis, who was too dense to catch the sarcasm. "I have nevah twaveled awound with him."

      "I have noticed that," grinned Tad. "You have permitted him to avoid you in a most astonishing manner."

      "What have you against

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