"He was hidden up in that big dense pine tree, and I guess he could see everything we did, as well as hear my signals. It's a shame that we have to go up against such trickery as that, sir," declared Frank, warmly.
"That's all right. Remember what we concluded would come out of this thing. If those Clifford players are small enough to take advantage of this find, let them, that's all. We'll fix it so that they'll make some tremendous blunders before they decide that honesty is the best policy. But I'm glad you found out. Now, tell me all about it, Frank," and the coach put both hands on the shoulders of the young athlete, in whom he had taken great interest.
Frank made a wry face.
"There isn't much to tell. No veni, vidi, vici, about this, for, while I came, and saw, I didn't conquer by a long shot. The fellow dropped down out of the tree, and made off, with me tagging behind. Then he discovered me, and ran. I followed suit, and was rapidly overtaking him, when we reached the road that turns toward the one along the river bank leading to the Clifford bridge."
"Yes, and then?" continued the coach, expectantly.
"I lost him! He had a wheel hidden in the bushes, and pedaled away, giving me the laugh as he went out of sight. That's all, sir," concluded Frank.
"Did you get a square look at the fellow?" inquired Mr. Willoughby.
"Enough to make sure that he didn't belong in Columbia, so far as I could tell. I guess he came from Clifford, all right, sir."
"Well, it makes little difference, so long as we know the signals are off. Forewarned is forearmed, they say. Forget all about it, my boy, and we'll fix matters so that we can profit from our seeming misfortunes."
So Frank went home to clean himself, and eat his supper. The consolation given by Coach Willoughby did much to cheer him up, and he managed to put the ugly business out of his mind.