“Glad to meet you,” he said hoarsely.
Instead of meeting Merriwell’s glance, his eyes were fixed intently on the corner of a checked cap which protruded from the Yale man’s pocket.
It was the cap he had lost out of the car that morning, or one exactly like it. Apparently it did not belong to Merriwell, who held his own in his left hand. Where had he picked it up? Where could he have found it but in that fatal spot? Stovebridge’s brain reeled and he felt a little faint. Then he realized that Clingwood was speaking to him—introducing the other Yale men—and with a tremendous effort he forced himself to turn and greet them with apparent calmness.
For a time there was a confused medley of talk and laughter as some of the other members strolled up and were presented to the strangers. Stovebridge was very thankful for the chance it gave him to pull himself together and hide his emotion.
Presently there was a momentary lull and Dick pulled the cap out of his pocket.
“Does this belong to any of your fellows?” he asked carelessly. “We picked it up in the road this morning.”
Bob Jennings pounced on it.
“Why, that looks like yours, Brose,” he said as he turned it over.
Stovebridge glanced at it indifferently. He had himself well in hand now.
“Rather like,” he drawled; “but mine is a little larger check; besides, I didn’t wear it this morning, you know.”