id="id00313">"You had great sport this summer, didn't you, Sam?"

"I should say we did! Nick and I helped find a treasure in an old mill."

"Whew!" gasped Tom. "So he found it, did he?"

"Keep quiet," whispered Bruce. "Listen!"

"And what's this I hear about playing a joke on Tom Fairfield, and some of his friends?" asked another voice.

"A joke!" gasped Tom.

"Quiet!" warned his friend.

"Ha! Ha!" laughed Sam. "Yes, it was a joke all right. You know those fellows happened to go camping near where Nick and I were. We met old Skeel—you know, the prof. who used to be here. Well, he had some scheme of finding a hermit's money hidden in the old mill, and we went in with him. Then we found that Tom and his crowd were on the same trail.

"Nick and I decided to have some fun with 'em. So one day we sneaked into their camp, when Tom was out, and just took Bert, Jack and a fellow named Dick something-or-other prisoners. Say! but they did kick and struggle, but we managed 'em.

"We carted 'em off to the old mill, and there we put 'em in a secret room. It was jolly fun, until Tom came, made quite a row, and got 'em out. But it was all a joke."

"By Jove! and a good one, too!" cried several laughing voices.

"Did you get the treasure?" someone wanted to know.

"Yes, it was there all right. The old hermit got it. I don't know just how that was, for Nick and I left. But I think Tom and the old chap had a row, and part of a wall fell down, showing a secret room. Oh, but you should hear how indignant Jack and Bert got when they found we were standing guard over them! It was as good as a hazing."

"It must have been!" agreed his friends, laughing heartily.

"Aren't they sore on you?" someone asked.

"Oh, well, maybe a bit," admitted Sam, with a show of frankness. "But if a fellow can't take a joke what good is he?"

"That's right!" came in a chorus. "If they make any trouble for you,
Sam, let us know."

"I will, but I don't think they will. Ah! here comes the eats! Pitch in, fellows!"

"You're the stuff, Sam!" came from several. "And that sure was a joke on Tom Fairfield and his crowd," added a voice. "A corking good joke!"

There was more laughter and talk, and in the next room to the jolly party sat Tom, looking at his friend Bruce in wonder.

CHAPTER V

TOM DECIDES

"Well?" asked Bruce questioningly, after a pause. "What do you think of my experiment, Tom?"

"Is this it?"

"It is. Are you ready now to go on with your plan of reading Sam out of the class, so to speak?"

Tom did not answer for a moment.

"Take time to think it over," advised his friend. "You have heard Sam's version of the affair. And it's reasonable to suppose that many will believe him—as many perhaps as would believe you and your chums."

"But he treated Jack and Bert miserably," declared Tom, "he and Nick."

"Of course he did," admitted Bruce. "He isn't denying that. But he makes a joke of it, and it will be hard to convince the Sophomore class that it wasn't done in fun. That's what you're up against, Tom. I rather suspected it would be that way from the first, and that's why I wanted you to hear for yourself just how Sam would tell his side of the story. He makes himself out in rather a better light than you and the others shine in, Tom. And you've got to consider that. I was waiting for a chance to let you hear him talk to some of his friends, but I didn't think I'd have the opportunity so soon. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

Again Tom was silent, while from the next room there came the sound of jolly laughter, mingling with the clatter of the dishes and cutlery.

"Here's to Sam Heller!" cried someone, toasting the bully.

"And Nick Johnson!" added another.

"The fellows who know how to play jokes!" put in a third voice, and the toast was drunk amid laughter.

"You see how it is," went on Bruce. "There are a lot of Sophomores in with him—probably some of your own intimate acquaintances, if not friends. They'll side with Sam, after this, no matter how much of a case you make out against him."

"I suppose so," admitted Tom ruefully. "Well, I guess I'll have to let things go by default. There's no use splitting the class in twain."

"That's the way I look at it," said Bruce eagerly, "I'm glad you see it in that light, Tom. Save the class. But if you feel that you are entitled to revenge———"

"I sure do!" interrupted Tom.

"Then take it privately—some other time," went on Bruce. "Football is coming on now, and you may play on the team—so may Sam. It wouldn't do to have bad feeling———"

"I understand," said Tom. "I'll let the thing slide for the time being."

"And Jack and Bert?" queried Bruce.

"I'll get them to do the same thing. But there'll be a day of reckoning for that bully all right!" and Tom clenched his fists.

"I don't blame you a bit," admitted Bruce. "Now go ahead with the meal. My experiment is over."

"Come on," suggested Bruce when he had paid the bill. "What do you say to a walk back to the Hall? It's a fine night, and the tramp will do you good."

"I'm for it," agreed Tom, and they set out.

"Hark!" exclaimed Bruce a little later, pausing in the middle of the road, which was flooded with moonlight. "What's that noise?"

"Auto coming," replied Tom. "Let's pull over here where we won't get so much dust."

As they shifted to the side of the highway they heard the sound of singing from the rear, mingling with the exhaust from a car.

"Elmwood Hall fellows," spoke Tom briefly, as he recognized one of the school songs. "I wonder who they are?"

"Don't know," answered Bruce. "Joy-riders, I guess. The fellows are getting more and more sporty every year."

"Get out!" laughed Tom. "You were as bad as any of us!"

The car came nearer. Tom and Bruce were well over to one side of the road, but in a spirit of mischief the lad at the wheel yelled:

"Get out the way! Give us room! We're the cheese!"

"They've got all the room they're entitled to," murmured Tom, for he and Bruce were on the extreme left of the highway, and the auto should have been on the right.

"Look out!" yelled a voice suddenly. "Pull that wheel over, Sam!"

But it was too late. A moment later Tom felt something strike him on the hip, and he went down in the dust.

"Put on the brakes!"

"You've hit someone, Sam!"

"Pull up!"

These cries followed the striking of Tom. There was a screech from the brake bands and the car came to a quick stop.

"You knocked him down," someone said.

"I don't care. Served him right. No business to get in my way!" snapped Sam.

"Are you hurt, Tom?" asked Bruce anxiously, as he bent over his friend.
"Were you hit hard?"

Tom's head cleared. It had struck rather heavily as he went down, yet it was but a passing faintness. He struggled to his feet, with the aid of Bruce, and some of the lads who leaped from the