"Yes, it's all right."
"Say, that makes me feel better. It does, by thunder! You're a good fellow, Merriwell, and I'm—I'm a fool! I talk too much! Drink too much, too. You don't talk and you don't drink. You're all right. Good-night, Merriwell."
"Good-night, Gordon."
When Frank retired the second time that night it was with a feeling of intense relief, for the perplexing problem as to the identity of the traitor had been settled, and he felt that he had done Gordon a good turn by getting him away from Ditson.
And Ditson? Well, he deserved to pass a wretched night, and he did. He felt that he was forever disgraced at Yale, but he did not seem to consider it his own fault. He blamed Merriwell for it all, and his heart was hot with almost murderous rage. Over and over he swore that he would get square some way—any way.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE RACE.
The day for the race came at last—a sunny day, with the air clear and cold. Just the right sort of a day for the best of work.
Everybody seemed bound for Lake Saltonstall. They were going out in carriages, hacks, coaches, on foot, by train, and in many other ways. The road to the lake was lined with people. The students were shouting, singing and blowing horns. One crowd of freshmen had a big banner, on which was lettered: