"I couldn't tell him," he murmured; "at least, not yet. How do I know that I am right? Maybe I'm guessing it all out. Oh, dear, how I miss my father to go to with all my troubles and perplexities. I'd have a talk with President Elliott, only I don't want to bother him and make a lot of talk about things that may naturally right themselves in time. Hello, there's Bob."
Frank got up to greet his friend, who swung down the corridor and into the room, whistling.
"The very fellow!" exclaimed Frank. "I say, Bob, I want to ask your advice."
CHAPTER XVI
THE FOOT RACE
"You want my advice?" asked Bob in some surprise.
"Just that, Bob," responded Frank Jordan.
"Huh—no one ever asked that before. I'm afraid I'm not much in that line, but I'll do the best I can."
"All right. Sit down while I tell you a little story," directed Frank.
Bob had come into the room red and perspiring, as though he had just been indulging in some very violent exercise. He soon settled down to steadiness from sheer interest as Frank proceeded to talk.