Billy’s was reached, and one of the sophs went in with Ditson, while the others kept out of sight nearby.

After a little the soph came out and reported that Merriwell and Rattleton were in there.  He had treated the house, but Merriwell had absolutely declined to take anything.

“Oh, yes,” nodded Browning.  “They say he never drinks.  That’s how he keeps himself in such fine condition all the time.  He will not smoke, either, and he takes his exercise regularly.  He is really a remarkable freshie.”

Arrangements were then made that a cab should be brought to the corner near Billy’s, where the driver should remain, apparently waiting for somebody.

It was known to be quite useless to attempt to decoy Merriwell out, so dependence must be placed on chance.  If he came out with no more than one or two companions his name was “mud,” according to the assembled sophs.

Arrangements were made to bind handkerchiefs over their faces to the eyes, so they would be partly disguised.  Some of them turned their coats wrong side out, and some resorted to other means of disguising themselves.

Then they waited patiently.

It was not so very long before Ditson came out in a breathless hurry.  He signaled, and they called him.  As he hastened up he panted: 

“Merriwell is coming right out, fellows!  Be ready for him!”

The sophomores knew which way Frank was likely to go after leaving Billy’s, and they lay in wait at a convenient spot.

“Is he alone?” eagerly asked Puss Parker.

“No.”

“Who is with him?”

“Rattleton.”

“Any others?”

“Not likely.”

“Good!  Take a tumble to yourself and skip.”

Ditson did so.

“Now, fellows,” hurriedly said Browning, “be ready for a struggle.  Remember that Merriwell is a scrapper and he is likely to resist.  We must take him completely by surprise.  Get back and lay quiet till I give the signal.”

They did as directed, and as they were in a dark corner, there was not much danger that they would be seen till they were ready to light on their game.

Footsteps were heard.

“Here he comes!”

Browning peered out, and two figures were seen approaching.

“How many?” anxiously whispered Tad Horner, quivering with anxiety.

“Two.  They are easy.  Ready for the rush.”

The sophomores crouched like savage warriors in ambush.

Merriwell’s peculiar, pleasant laugh was heard as the two unsuspecting freshmen approached.

Rattleton was talking, and, as usual, he was twisting his expression in his haste to say the things which flashed through his head.

“It doesn’t make a dit of bifference if we haven’t proved anything against him, I say Ditson can’t be trusted.  He’s got a mooked crug—­I mean a crooked mug.”

“Oh, don’t be too hard on the fellow till you know something for sure,” advised Merriwell.  “I will confess that I do not like him, but—­”