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full once or twice."

      "I thought so when we got up the next morning."

      "Well, you have told me lots of things about Merriwell and what he was doing with the crew. You're a great talker when you're loaded."

      Gordon stiffened up a bit and tried to give his companion a sober stare, but the effort was a ludicrous failure.

      "Wazzyer mean?" he asked. "'Fi told you anything it was in strictest confidence."

      "Cert; but then, you know, anything to knife Merriwell."

      Gordon braced off, his hands on the table before him. Ditson laughed and went on:

      "Now, if we make a combine against him we can do him bad."

      "Wazzyer mean?" Gordon again demanded. "Mean that you repeated anything I tol' you in confidence when I was full?"

      "Not publicly," grinned Ditson. "I may have used it to injure Merriwell, but I was careful how I used it."

      Walter thumped the table with his fist, growing angry suddenly.

      "You're a hanged two-faced fraud!" he huskily cried. "That's jusht what you are, Ditson! Somebody's been telling things to the sophs. They found out everything. It was you! And you pumped your points out of me when I was full."

      "That didn't hurt you," Ditson hastened to declare. "It was entirely to hurt Merriwell, and he is our common enemy."

      "Don't care a continental if he is!" cried Walter. "I don't like him, but you have hurt me. Bet anything Merriwell and Old Put thought I had blowed! I didn't have any confidence in Merriwell's methods, but I didn't blow to the sophs! Still I was to blame for lettin' you get me full and pump me. And the fellows think I'm a tattler! Well, I'll be hanged if I don't even up with you by hammering the face off you right now!"

      Walter stood up and attempted to grasp Ditson's arm, but he was so full that he made a miscalculation and caught nothing but empty air. Then he struck across the table at Roll.

      "Oh, you would hit me, would you!" grated Ditson, who saw that his companion was much the drunker. "You would hammer my face! Well, perhaps I'll do some hammering myself!"

      Then he caught up an empty champagne bottle and swung it over his head as if to strike Gordon.

      Like a flash Merriwell's hand darted down over the top of the screen and snatched the bottle from Roll's grasp.

      A moment later Frank went around the screen and confronted the two lads, still holding the bottle in his hand.

      "I saved you from having a cracked head that time, Gordon," he said as he collared Ditson. "And I have found out who the traitor is. I am glad you are not the man. As for this thing"—he gave Ditson a shake that caused the fellow's teeth to click together—"he has shown to-night that he is a most contemptible cur! I hated to think him as dirty as he has shown himself to be."

      Frank's face was full of unutterable disgust for Ditson.

      Other freshmen came crowding into the corner, and Ditson saw himself regarded with scorn and contempt by everybody. He cowed like a whipped cur and whined:

      "I was simply fooling; it was all a jolly. I never did anything of the sort. I was simply trying to get Gordon on the string by telling him so."

      "Well, you got yourself on a string, and pretty well tangled up. Gentlemen"—turning to the freshmen present—"here is the traitor who has been giving our secrets away to the sophs. Both Rattleton and myself heard him acknowledge it. Take a good look at him, so you will know him in the future."

      "Oh, we'll know him!" cried many voices.

      "It's a mistake—" Roll began.

      "That's right," agreed Frank. "The worst mistake you ever made. At last you have shown just what you are, and everybody is dead onto you. Get out of this!"

      "Tar and feather him!" shouted a voice.

      "Let him go," advised Merriwell. "He is covered with a coating of disgrace that will not come off as easily as tar and feathers."

      Ditson sneaked away, the hisses of his classmates sounding in his ears. The look on his face as he rolled his eyes toward Merriwell before leaving the room was malicious in the extreme.

      Frank turned to Walter, who did not seem to know what to do.

      "Gordon, you have found that fellow out, which is a lucky thing for you," he said. "He would have ruined you. At the same time, I have found out that you had no hand in the sneaking work that has been going on of late. You were simply an unconscious and unwilling tool, and it did me good to see you resent it when you found out what Ditson had been doing."

      Walter tried to say something, but he choked and stammered. Then he muttered something about having a drink all around, but Frank assured him that he had taken quite enough.

      Rattleton and Robinson led the crowd away from the corner, and Merriwell had a brief talk with Gordon, Then Harry and Frank took Gordon out and did not leave him till he was safely in his room. As they were going away Walter thickly said:

      "Merriwell!"

      "What is it?"

      "I want to 'pologize."

      "What for?"

      "Things I've said 'bout you."

      "I don't know about them."

      "'Cause I've said 'em behind your back. Sneakin' thing to do! Merriwell, I'm 'shamed—I am, by thunder! I guess you're all right. Don't b'lieve you ever done me dirt. Is it all right, old man?"

      "Yes, it's all right."

      "Say, that makes me feel better. It does, by thunder! You're a good fellow, Merriwell, and I'm—I'm a fool! I talk too much! Drink too much, too. You don't talk and you don't drink. You're all right. Good-night, Merriwell."

      "Good-night, Gordon."

      When Frank retired the second time that night it was with a feeling of intense relief, for the perplexing problem as to the identity of the traitor had been settled, and he felt that he had done Gordon a good turn by getting him away from Ditson.

      And Ditson? Well, he deserved to pass a wretched night, and he did. He felt that he was forever disgraced at Yale, but he did not seem to consider it his own fault. He blamed Merriwell for it all, and his heart was hot with almost murderous rage. Over and over he swore that he would get square some way—any way.

      CHAPTER XXVI.

       THE RACE.

       Table of Contents

      The day for the race came at last—a sunny day, with the air clear and cold. Just the right sort of a day for the best of work.

      Everybody seemed bound for Lake Saltonstall. They were going out in carriages, hacks, coaches, on foot, by train, and in many other ways. The road to the lake was lined with people. The students were shouting, singing and blowing horns. One crowd of freshmen had a big banner, on which was lettered:

      "'Umpty-eight, she is great,

       She will win sure as fate."

      Evidently the sophomores had been informed about this banner in advance, for they carried one which declared:

      "'Umpty-eight isn't in it,

       She'll be beaten in a minute."

      How they shouted and taunted each other! How they raced along the road! How sure everybody was that he could pick the winner!

      The scene at the lake was beautiful and inspiring, for the shore was lined with people and there were flags and bright colors everywhere. On the point there was a great mob, composed mostly of students, who were yelling and cheering and flaunting their flags. The boats on the lake were well filled and gay with colors. New Haven swell society was fairly represented, and it certainly was

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