He drew up one foot with a wry face. As he did so Dean Ritchie gave a start and a stare.
"Why," he cried, "your stocking is dripping with blood."
"The sole of my foot feels like a raw beef-steak," said Bob.
One of the boys had gone after the shoes that Bob had thrown off a distance from the course.
"Ritchie," he said gravely, "feel there."
His leader took the shoe, ran his hand into it, and looked into it.
"Oh, shame! shame!" he exclaimed with a wrathy face. "Whoever did this deserves to be tarred and feathered."
"What is it?" inquired Frank.
"An old trick among touts and welchers. Just feel, Jordan—some one got into the gym last night and doctored these shoes."
"Doctored the shoes?" repeated Frank vaguely.