“Of course.  What does he say about it?”

“Oh, he simply laughs at the stories.  If a fellow asks him point-blank if they are true he tells him not to let anybody string him.  He seems to regard the whole business as a weak sort of joke that some fellow is trying to work.”

“Without doubt that’s what it is, for he’s too young to have had such adventures.  Besides that, there’s no fellow modest enough to deny it if he had had them.”

“Of course there isn’t.”

In this way that point was settled in their minds, for the time, at least.

There was no band to welcome ’Umpty-eight back to New Haven.  No crowd of cheering freshmen was at the station, and those who had gone on to Cambridge to play and to see the game got off quietly—­very quietly—­and hurried to their rooms.

Merriwell was in his room ahead of Rattleton.  Harry finally appeared, wearing a sad and doleful countenance.

“What’s the matter, old man?” asked Frank as Harry came in and flung his hat on the floor, after which he dropped upon a chair.  “You do not seem to feel well.”

“I should think you would eel felegant—­I mean feel elegant!” snapped Harry, glaring at Frank.

“Oh, what’s the use to be all broken up over a little thing?”

“Wow!  Little thing!” whooped Harry.  “I’d like to know what you call a little thing—­I would, by jee!”

“You are excited, my boy.  Calm down somewhat.”

“Oh, I am calm!” shouted Harry as he jumped up and kicked the chair flying into a corner.  “I am perfectly calm!” he roared, tearing up and down the room.  “I never was calmer in all my life!”

“You look it!” came in an amused manner from Frank’s lips.  “You are so very calm that it is absolutely soothing and restful to the nerves to observe you!”

Harry stopped short before Frank, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, hunched his shoulders, thrust his head forward, and glared fiercely into Merriwell’s face.

“There are times when it positively is a crime not to swear,” he hoarsely said.  “It seems to me that this is one of the times.  If you will cuss a little it will relieve my feelings immensely.”

“Why don’t you swear?” laughed Frank.

“Why don’t I?  Poly hoker—­no, holy poker!  I have been swearing all the way from Cambridge to New Haven, and I have completely run out of profanity.”

“Well, I think you have done enough for both of us.”

“Oh, indeed!  Well, that is hard of me!  I came in here expecting to find you breaking the furniture, and you are as calm and serene as a summer’s morning.  I tell you, Frank, it is an awful shock!  And you are the one who should do the most swearing.  I can’t understand you, hanged if I can!”

“Well, you know there is an old saw that says it is useless to cry over spilled milk—­”

“Confound your old saws!  Crying and swearing are two different things.  Don’t you ever cuss, Frank?”