Ralph West seemed anxious to speak to Frank in private. They were on the way up the river, and most of the boys had stretched out, talking over the various thrilling events of the great game, when Ralph dropped down beside Frank.
“I’ve been wanting to say a few words to you ever since we left Columbia, but couldn’t get the chance,” he said in a low tone.
Frank could see that he was unduly excited, and he did not believe that this came wholly from his clever work in the recent game.
“All right, Ralph; what is it?” he asked encouragingly, for they had been good friends for some time, and Frank knew all about certain strange events connected with the past life of the freshman who had made good on the Columbia nine.
“I went to the post-office just before we started out,” commenced Ralph.
Frank started, and looked at him eagerly.
“This is just after the first of the month, and that mysterious letter with the money enclosed used to always come at such a time. Well, what happened?” he asked.
“I got the letter,” replied Ralph, drawing a long breath.
“With the money in it?”
“Yes, just as before,” answered the freshman, gulping hard as something seemed to choke him; “and not a single word. Frank, it’s all opened up again, and I must know who is sending me this money. You promised to help me, and I’ll never rest easy until I learn who I am!”