company, and so I think I will move along. Good-by."
With that, Pierson could see that the tantalizing fellow actually made an increase of speed.
"Confound him!" grated Paul. "I believe he was fooling me all along when he seemed to be having a hard time to keep up. All that panting and heavy breathing was put on."
It was decidedly humiliating to be "jollied" in such a manner; but Paul found he could not hold his own with Frank, and he finally gave up the struggle. Still he continued to run on, thinking that the lad ahead would use up his wind by such a burst of speed, and believing there was a possibility of overtaking Merriwell before South Middle was reached.
This did not happen, however, and when Paul burst into Frank's room, he found Rattleton there, listening to a funny story that Merriwell was telling.
And Merriwell? He had his feet resting comfortably on the top of a table, while he lay back in an easy-chair, looking remarkably cool, as if he had not lately made a run of several miles.
More than that, he had changed his clothes, as the suit he had on was not the same he had worn during the run!
Paul staggered in, and dropped limply on the couch, staring at Frank, as if he saw a ghost.
"Look—here—Merriwell," he panted, "what—are—you—made—of? Are—you—run—by—steam?"