“What did Hartwick say?” Frank eagerly asked.

“He said he had a nice fresh flat who thought it a fine thing to play the spy and blab all he found out.”

“Blay bluses—­I mean blue blazes!” cried Harry, banging his fist down on the table.  “That’s what makes me cot under the hollar!  A man who would do a thing like that will steal a sheep!  I’d like to have the pleasure of thumping him a few times—­just a few!”

Merriwell was silent, a dark look on his face.

“It will not be healthy for the spy if I catch him,” he finally declared.  “I’ll make it pretty hot for him around here!”

“Which would be a highly commendable action,” bowed Dismal.

“Have you any idea who would do such a low-down thing?” asked Harry.

“Sometimes we have ideas which we do not care to express.”

“That’s right; but in a case like this—­confidentially—­to us, you know—­”

“Well, if I say anything, it is to be strictly confidential.”

“Sure!” cried Frank and Harry in a breath.

“You both give me your word for it?”

“We do.”

“If I knew, I would not hesitate to come out openly and accuse the fellow,” said Dismal; “but this is merely a case of suspicion, and I will tell you who I suspect.”

“Go ahead.”

“Well, there is a certain fellow who has not been above playing into the hands of the sophs in the past, and it is natural for me to suspect him.  His name is—­”

The door opened, and Roland Ditson came in without knocking.

CHAPTER XIX.

Who is the traitor?

“Hello, fellows!” cried Ditson.  “How are yer, Jones!  I am surprised to see you here.  Is it possible you have let up cramming long enough to make a call?  Why, I have even heard that you had your eye on some classical scholarship prize as soon as this.  Everybody who knows you says you’re a regular hard-working old dig.”

“There are fools who know other people’s business a great deal better than their own,” said Dismal stiffly.

“That’s right,” nodded Ditson, who made a great effort to be rakish in his appearance, but always appeared rather foxy instead.  “But I tell you this matter of burning the midnight oil and grinding is not what it’s cracked up to be.  It makes a man old before his time, and it doesn’t amount to much after he has been all through it.  Goodness knows we freshmen have to cram hard enough to get through!  I am tired of it already.  And then we have to live outside the pale, as it were.  When we become sophs we’ll be able to give up boarding houses and live in the dormitories.  That’s what I am anxious for.”

“It strikes me that you are very partial to sophs,” said Dismal, giving Roll a piercing look.

Ditson was not fazed.

“They’re a rather clever gang of fellows,” he said.  “Freshmen are very new, as a rule.  Of course there are exceptions, and—­”