“Young man,” sternly said a familiar voice, “what have you there?”

“It’s Professor Grant!” thought Frank, aghast.

The professor blocked his way.  What could he do?

Quick as a flash he swung the gobbler around and struck his challenger a smashing blow with it, knocking him sprawling.

Then he took to his heels, still holding fast to his capture.

In a moment he heard the sound of feet in pursuit, and he knew the outraged professor was after him.

Frank’s heart was in his mouth, and he felt scared for the first time that night.  He was certain it would mean expulsion to be caught.

For all of the running he had done that night, he fled like a frightened deer, occasionally glancing over his shoulder.  He had never dreamed that Professor Grant was a sprinter, but the man was running at great speed—­seemed to be gaining.

“Stop, sir!” cried the pursuer.  “I tell you to stop!”

“Not much!” thought Frank.  “I won’t stop!  If you catch me your wind is better than I think it is.”

He did not dare go into his house, so he dashed past, cut into another street, turned corner after corner, and still he found himself pursued.  It seemed marvelous that Professor Grant could keep up such a pace.

Finally the pursuer called: 

“Merriwell, is that you?”

No answer.

“I know you,” declared the pursuer, and now Frank perceived that that voice did not sound like Professor Grant.  “You are a crackajack runner.  I wanted to give you a try to see what you could do.  I’ll see you to-morrow.  Good-night.”

The pursuer gave up the chase.

“As I live, I believe it was Pierson, manager of the ball team!” muttered Frank when he was sure it was no trick and he was no longer followed.  “He looks something like Professor Grant, and he is a great mimic.  That’s just who it was.”

A short time later he was in his room, where a jovial party of freshmen was gathered.

CHAPTER XXI

Roast turkey.

Frank’s appearance, with the turkey still in his possession, was hailed with shouts of delight.

“We didn’t know as you would get in,” said Jones.  “I invited some more of the fellows up here, as you see, and we found out that some of the sophs seemed to know something unusual was going on.”

“That’s right,” nodded Rattleton.  “They were laying for us.  Two of them stopped me when I reached York Street.  They told me to give up what I had, but I didn’t have anything to give up, so they let me go.”

Then Frank told of his adventure with a person who looked like Professor Grant.

“That’s it!” cried Little.  “That was their game!  They were after our turkey.”

“But how did they know we were after turkey?” asked Robinson.

“They must have been told by somebody,” said Street.