CHAPTER XIII. THE BLACK FOX.
Oscar thanked the principal warmly for his advice and for the interest he took in his affairs, and just then the little clock on the mantle chimed the hour of nine.
The boys, having promised to be at their respective homes by that time, bade Mr. Chamberlain good-night and hurried out, Sam taking possession of his cap as he passed through the hall.
"What do you think of the situation now?" inquired Oscar, when the gate had been closed behind them.
Sam stopped, and, by way of reply, seized his companion's hand, giving it a grip and a shake that would have made almost any other boy double up with pain.
"I never wanted to yell so badly in my life as I did when Mr. Chamberlain told us that that crazy man was just what he represented himself to be," said Sam. "I'll hold in until we have our next practice game of ball, or until you and I go down the river again, and then won't I make things ring? Say, Oscar, when you are knocking over that big game, right and left, you'll think of a fellow, won't you?"
"Indeed I will, Sam. How much I wish you could go with me, if I go!"
"Oh, you'll go—you need have no fears on that score!" exclaimed Sam, with great enthusiasm. "I should like to be hanging on to the sleeve of your jacket about the time you catch sight of your first antelope, but it isn't to be thought of. I must be in Harvard by a year from next fall, if I have brains enough to get there. Father has set his heart upon it, and, as he is the very best father any boy ever had, I wouldn't disappoint him for the world."
"Of course not," said Oscar. "Now, Sam, I want to ask you a question: What have you been doing?"
"Nothing—nothing whatever," said his companion promptly. "I have read somewhere, Oscar, that the way those fellows on the plains hunt the pronghorn is to——"