"Where?"
"On the street. Browning and a party were going down to Morey's, and they were having a high old time with Hartwick, who was explaining the advantages of the stroke and the oars our crew has adopted."
"That's not proof that somebody has played the spy. It may have slipped out through the carelessness of some of our men."
"It may. But I don't think so. I heard Emery ask Hartwick how he knew so much about us."
"What did Hartwick say?" Frank eagerly asked.
"He said he had a nice fresh flat who thought it a fine thing to play the spy and blab all he found out."
"Blay bluses—I mean blue blazes!" cried Harry, banging his fist down on the table. "That's what makes me cot under the hollar! A man who would do a thing like that will steal a sheep! I'd like to have the pleasure of thumping him a few times—just a few!"
Merriwell was silent, a dark look on his face.
"It will not be healthy for the spy if I catch him," he finally declared. "I'll make it pretty hot for him around here!"
"Which would be a highly commendable action," bowed Dismal.