There was no mistaking the fact that Archie had something on his mind. Always light-hearted and prompt to join in with any joshing or bantering give-and-take which might be going on, he seemed decidedly serious as he helped Dick with the breakfast. More than once Merriwell caught him gazing absently out of the window, and once when he spoke to him suddenly the fellow gave a sudden start and the dish he was holding slipped from his hands and crashed in pieces on the floor.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” he said regretfully as he stooped to pick up the pieces. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.”
“What was the trouble?” Dick asked carelessly. “Didn’t you feel well?”
“Oh, yes, I felt all right. Strange bed, I suppose.”
“You didn’t happen to get up, did you?” Merriwell inquired, as he broke an egg into the frying pan.
McCormick gave a slight start and darted a keen look at Dick, but the latter’s countenance was as free from guile as that of a child-in-arms.
“Did you hear any one?” Archie countered evasively.
“I awoke some time during the night and thought I heard some one walking around downstairs,” Dick explained easily.
“I did get up and go down,” McCormick said, after a moment’s hesitation. “I was restless and finally got up and took a walk through the rooms down there. It was plagued cold, too, I can tell you.”
Merriwell did not ask any more questions. He had given Archie plenty of opportunity to explain what had taken him down to the dining room if the fellow were so inclined, but apparently he did not propose to do any explaining.