If the Yale man could have had any conception of the extraordinary events which were to take place before he set eyes on Austin Demarest again, he would have been amazed beyond measure.
Luckily, however, he was troubled with no premonitions of evil. He ate his usual hearty supper with his customary appetite, took part in the football meeting afterward, and helped decide several important points relative to the great Yale-Harvard game, which was coming off the following week. Then he went promptly back to his rooms, and, getting out the manuscript of “Jarvis of Yale,” settled himself by the table, and commenced to read.
Here Buckhart found him an hour later, oblivious to everything but the typewritten sheets before him. His lips were parted, his eyes bright, and a faint flush of excitement was on his cheeks.
The Texan paused in astonishment.
“By the great horn spoon!” he ejaculated. “What in thunder is the matter with you, pard?”
“Don’t bother me!” muttered Dick, without raising his eyes. “I’m almost through.”
“Humph!” grunted Buckhart, dropping into a chair.
Ten minutes later his roommate looked up, with a sigh.
“That’s a dandy play!” he exclaimed, with satisfaction. “A perfect corker! If that don’t go with the people hereabouts, it’ll be because they’re a lot of dead ones. The part of Lance Jarvis is a peach, but I don’t see where I come in.”
“Huh?” questioned the Westerner.