"Yes, just been having a bit of a swim," said Frank. "Good thing for a fellow at night, you know, makes him sleep well."
"Great Scott!" was all Gleason could say. "Swimming at this time of night in the river! Well, my eye, you are a funny one. Web-foot, you are for sure and all. Well, you can use the river, but I prefer the good old porcelain bathtub for mine after September first."
"Nothing like the outdoors swimming, you know," said Frank, "and at night you don't startle the surrounding scenery. I'm off for bed. Good night."
"Good night," called Gleason, who had also dived into his sleeping-room. "I say, what were you doing up here when I was gone? I found my lampshade busted when I came, chairs upset, curtains drawn tight and all that. Little rough-house, eh?"
"Yes, just a little rough-house to celebrate my arrival at Queen's."
"Oh," said Gleason, "I found a leather wristlet over by the mantel when I was picking up the debris. Maybe it belongs to one of your friends."
"Maybe it does; where is it?"
"On the table there; if you dig around you will find it."
Frank went quickly to the table where the wristlet lay in plain sight. He picked it up, examining it curiously. It was made of leather about two inches wide, with two small brass buckles which allowed the strap to be drawn up tightly. Such wristlets were often worn to strengthen and protect a weak wrist. He had noticed that afternoon that two of the football squad wore just such wristlets as these. Could it be one of them? He turned the leather over and over, and started as his eyes fell on the initials C. D. inked on the inside of one of the straps. "Chip Dixon, by goodness! I'll keep this for future use. It may come in handy more ways than one, Mr. Dixon."