“Oh, pshaw!” exclaimed Bert, to himself.  “I’m not going to get into deep water over this.  I’ll wait and see what happens.”

And, though he did not know it, much was to happen soon.

It was soon noised about the college that Farmer Appleby had made a “crack” about his hay fire, and great was the indignation of the lads.

“After what we did for him, he ought to be glad enough to keep quiet, if we burned half a dozen stacks!” exclaimed Reddy Burke, the genial Irish lad.  “Sure and it’s meself would tell him that same if I got a chance,” Reddy always lapsed into the idioms of his forebears when he grew excited.

“Oh, it isn’t worth bothering about,” declared Bruce Bennington.  “Appleby is naturally sore at losing some of his crops, for he’s a regular miser.  I know him of old.  Every time something happened on his farm he always complained that we boys did it or had a hand in it.”

“And did you?” asked Tom.

“Sometimes, but oftener not.  Don’t let it worry you.  He’s only looking for money.  I’ll wager if he was to be paid for his hay, and if he knew who set fire to it—­if any one did—­he’d keep quiet and compound the felony.  Forget it.”

It was about two weeks later, just prior to the first match football game of the season, that Bert and Jack, coming in from practice which Tom had left earlier because of a slight injury to his shoulder, found their chum busy with bottles and test tubes in their room.

“Whew!  What a smell!” cried Jack, as he opened the door.  “What in the world be you a doin’ of, Tommy, my boy?”

“Oh, working out some physics problems.  I’m a bit back in my work.”

“Noble youth!  I ought to be doing the same thing.  My! but I’m dry.  Got any ice water?  What’s this?” and Jack caught up a glass filled with a colorless liquid.

“Here!  Drop that!” cried Tom, quickly.  “That’s had cyanide of potassium in.  There may be some in it yet.  If you want to go to an early grave, taste it.”

“Not on your life!” gasped Jack, a bit white.  “But you shouldn’t leave such stuff around carelessly, Tom.”

“I didn’t intend to.  I didn’t think you fellows would be back so soon.  I’m just cleaning up.  I’m done now.  How did practice go after I left?”

“Oh, we shoved the scrub all over, and made two more touchdowns.  Say, though, I hope you can play Saturday,” and Jack looked anxiously at Tom.

“Oh, sure I can play.  I just didn’t want to get laid up, and that’s why I pulled out.  I’ll play all right.”

The Elmwood regular eleven was being whipped into good shape by captain and coach, and to their delight our three friends were promised places for the first match game of the season.

It was a night or two before the game when Jack, who had been to town, came back with an evening paper.

“I say!” he exclaimed, looking it over before the summons to supper, “here’s more trouble for our friend Appleby.”