“It is,” murmured Cap.
“And you had better wear a stronger mask,” were the doctor’s parting words, as he turned aside. There was a queer smile on his face, and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses. He opened his book at the place where a cautious finger had kept the pages apart, and passed on.
“Talk about luck!” exclaimed Whistle-Breeches hoarsely. “He never even suspected that there’d been a fight. Oh, you Cap!”
“Suspected!” burst out Bill. “I’ll bet he knows all about it!”
“He did not!” declared the other lad. “Why, he’s so interested in that book that I don’t believe he remembers now whether he spoke to us or not.”
“He doesn’t; eh?” exclaimed Bill. “Say, he went off reading his book upside down, and if that doesn’t indicate that he’s on to our game, and is laughing at our attempts to keep it from him, I’d like to know what it does mean?”
“Was his book upside down?”
“Surest thing you know. Say, what the doctor doesn’t know wouldn’t cover a postage stamp. But it was white of him not to let on. You’re lucky, Cap!”
“Yes, regular Smith luck,” put in Whistle-Breeches.
“Well, don’t take any chances. Cut away to your room. I can get you some raw beefsteak for the optic.”