“Go it, every one of you!”

“Hurrah!  Mumps, Dick, and Fred are a tie!”

It was true the three boys were side by side.  But presently both Dick and Fred made extra efforts and forged ahead.

“It’s your race, Fred!”

“It’s yours, Dick!”

But it was neither’s race —­ for with a shout both whizzed over the line at the same instant.

“A tie!”

“And Mumps ain’t in it!”

“Three cheers for Dick and Fred!” shouted Frank Harrington, and the cheers were given with a will.  By this time the play hour was over, and all of the skaters rushed back to the Hall, to get ready for the drill previous to supper.  It is needless to add that each lad brought an extra big appetite with him.

All of the Royer boys noticed that Dan Baxter did not turn up at roll call, nor did the bully put in an appearance that night.  “Got a day off,” said Mumps, but that was all he could tell.

Late on the following day Tom was walking toward the gymnasium when he caught sight of Baxter just entering the school grounds.  He at once ran toward the bully.

“Baxter, I want to have a talk with you,” he said sharply, as he looked the bully squarely in the face.

“Do you?” was the uneasy answer.  “All right, fire ahead.”

“Hadn’t you better come up to the dormitory?  We can have it all to ourselves, for the others are either in the gymnasium or on the lake.”

“Well, I was going up to our dormitory anyway,” answered Baxter, and stalked off, leaving Tom to follow him.  Once they were in the dormitory occupied by the bully and his set, Baxter locked the door.

“Now out with what you have got to say, and be quick about it,” he growled.

“I want to know who that man was, you met in the tavern in Cedarville.”

“Didn’t meet any man in particular.  Met half a dozen in general.”

“You know the man I mean —­ the tall fellow, with a scar on his chin.”

“Oh, that fellow?  I think his name is Nolly.  He’s a book agent, and I promised to buy some histories from him,” and Baxter pretended to yawn, as if he was not especially interested.

“You are not telling the truth, Baxter,” answered Tom, undaunted by this show of nerve.

“Do you mean to say I lie, Rover?  Take care, or you may be sorry for what you say!”

“You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, Baxter.  That man’s name is no more Nolly than mine is George Washington or yours William McKinley.”

“Isn’t it?  Then perhaps you know his real name.”

“I do.  His name is Arnold Baxter.”

Had a bomb exploded at Baxter’s ear he would not have appeared more astonished.

“Say, who told you that?” he demanded fiercely and caught Tom by the arm.

“Let go of me, Dan Baxter.”

“I say, who told you that?”

“I heard his name in the woods.  He was with the man who robbed my brother Dick of his watch, when we were at home.”