Frank Merriwells Chums | Page 4

out as well as you do in the end."
That night, some time after taps, two boys arose and proceeded to carefully prepare dummies in their beds, arranging the figures so they looked very much like sleeping cadets, if they were not examined too closely. Bart was rather skillful at this, and he assisted Frank in perfecting the figure in Merriwell's bed.
"There," he finally whispered, with satisfaction, "that would fool Lieutenant Gordan himself."
They donned trousers and coats, and prepared to leave the room in their stocking feet.
Bart opened the door and peered cautiously out into the hall.
"Coast is clear," he whispered over his shoulder.
In another moment they were outside the room. Along the corridor they skurried like cats, their feet making no noise on the floor.
Frank was still entirely unaware of their destination, but, as they had not taken their shoes, he knew they were not to leave the building.
Frank cared little where they went, but he realized Hodge was leading the way to a remote part of the building, where the rooms were not entirely taken, as the academy was not full of students.
All at once, Bart sent a peculiar hiss down the corridor, and it was answered by a similar sound.
A moment later they scudded past a fellow who was hugging in a shadow where the lights did not reach.
"Who's that?" whispered Frank.
"That's the sentinel," replied Bart.
Then they came to the door of a certain room, on which Hodge knocked in a peculiar manner.
A faint sound of unbarring came from behind the door, which quickly opened, and they dodged into the room.
As yet there was no light in the room, and, still filled with wonder, Frank asked:
"Was that the regular sentinel out there, Bart?"
"That was our sentinel," was the reply.
"But where are the regular sentinels? I did not see one of them."
Faint chuckles came from several parts of the room, and Hodge replied:
"At a certain hour each night the duties of the regular sentinels take them away long enough for me to get out of my room and in here. See?"
"They must be in the trick?"
"The most of them are. When it happens that one is not, we have to look out for him, and dodge him. To-night those on duty on this floor were all fixed."
Then somebody cautiously struck a match, by the flare of which Frank saw several fellows were gathered in the room.
A lamp was lighted, and Merriwell looked around. Besides Bart, he saw Harvey Dare, George Harris, Wat Snell and Sam Winslow.
"Hello, Merriwell, old man," some greeted, cordially, but cautiously. "Glad to see Hodge has brought you along."
Frank was instantly seized by an unpleasant sensation--a foreboding, or a warning. Harris and Snell were not friends of his; in fact, in the past, they had been distinctly unfriendly. Dare he knew little about, as they had never had much to do with each other. Sam Winslow was a plebe, having entered the academy at the same time with Merriwell, but Frank had never been able to determine whether he was "no good" or a pretty decent sort of fellow.
Had Frank been governed by his first impression, he would have found an excuse to bid that company good-night immediately, but he did not like to do anything like that, for he knew it would cause them to designate him as a cad, and he would be despised for doing so.
He had gone too far to back out immediately, so he resolved to stay a while, and then get out as best he could.
At the window of the room blankets had been suspended, so no ray of light could shine out into the night to betray the little party.
At a glance, Frank saw the room was not occupied by students, for it contained nothing but the bare furniture, besides a box on the table, and the assembled lads.
Bart saw Frank looking around, and divined his thoughts.
"I suppose you are wondering where you are? Well, this is the room in which Cadet Bolt committed suicide. It has been closed ever since, as no fellow will occupy it. It is said to be haunted."
This appealed to Frank's love of the sensational. Besides that, he fancied he saw an opportunity for some sport that was not down in the programme, and he smiled a bit.
"Of course it isn't haunted," he said. "I don't believe there is a fellow here who believes in ghosts?"
"I don't."
"Nor I."
"Nor I."
"Such stuff is rot!"
"I don't believe in anything I can't see."
Thus the assembled lads expressed themselves, and Frank smiled again.
"While I do not believe this room is haunted," he said, "I once had a rather blood-curdling experience with something like a disembodied spirit--an adventure that came near turning my hair snowy white from fright and horror. I will tell you about it. The original of my