The cool night air calmed down his heated anger a little, and by the time he reached the barracks it had changed into a dull despair. It seemed to him that no one had a chance to rival one of the Merriwells at Fardale.
Yet Bob was not a bad sort of fellow at heart. His impulsiveness sometimes led him into hot-headed errors, which he bitterly repented later. He had tried to conquer himself, and to some extent had succeeded. None the less, in this case he had given way to his bitterness without restraint.
As he reached the door of the barracks he detected a figure lurking in the shadow to one side. A keen glance showed him that the figure was not in uniform, and was one of the village youths.
“Here!” cried Randall sharply. “What are you doing around here?”
“I’m lookin’ for Bob Randall,” came the surprising answer.
Randall started.
“You’re not looking for him, but at him,” he answered. “What’s your business?”
The village youth held out a paper.
“Here’s a message I was to bring you. And the feller said that you was to keep it under your hat.”
Randall took it in some wonder, and the youth darted off. When he reached his room, where his roommate, Harlow Clarke, was busy over his books, Bob opened the paper, and read the message it bore: