CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE MARKS ON THE BLACK STONE.
Frank fancied he heard pursuing footsteps behind him, but the mysterious man might have spared himself the effort if he tried to overtake the lad, for Merriwell almost flew over the ground.
The lights from the windows of the barracks soon appeared through the trees, and Frank felt relieved when he was safely within the grounds with the academy buildings looming before him.
A short time later he entered his own room in the "Cock-loft," to find Bartley Hodge sitting with his feet on the table, smoking a cigarette and perusing an exciting detective story; but the feet went down to the floor like a flash, and the cigarette and book disappeared with magical swiftness as Frank came in.
"Oh!" said Hodge, with a sigh of relief; "it's you, is it, Merriwell?
I thought it might be an inspector." Frank laughed.
"It would have been rather bad for you if I had been an inspector, for you did not get that book and cigarette out of sight quick enough to fool anybody, and the air is full of smoke.

You would have stood a good chance for chevrons next month if you had let cigarettes and novels alone and taken a little more care to avoid demerit." "Never mind, old man," said Hodge, as he resumed the cigarette and brought forth the detective story again.
"You'll be a corporal sure, and that is glory enough for us.

Don't preach.

If you should start in on this yarn, you wouldn't give it up till you finished it." "And that is exactly why I am not going to start in.

I enjoy a good story as well as you do, but I cannot afford to read novels, now, and so I refuse to be tempted into looking into any of them." "This is a hummer," declared Bart, enthusiastically.