ontempt.

The exposure of Gage's crookedness broke up the poker parties for that
season, at least; and Frank was happy, for he had saved himself and
rescued Hodge and Hans Dunnerwust.

But he was happiest in receiving the approbation of Inza Burrage, who
learned, through her brother, what Frank had done.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE "CENTIPEDE" JOKE.

"Sh!"

"What's up?"

"There's a carmine haze on the moon."

"That's clear as mud! What's the racket?"

"You room next to Mulloy and Dunnerwust?"

"Yes."

"Well, you will hear the racket just about the time taps sound."

"But I want to know what's up," persisted the second speaker, whose
curiosity was aroused. "Has somebody put up a job on those two marks,
Mulloy and his Dutch chum?"

"You've guessed it."

"Who?"

"Guess again."

"Merriwell."

"Right. Take your place at the head of the class."

This hasty and guarded conversation was carried on between two plebe
cadets who had met in a corridor of the academy "cockloft." The first
speaker was a jolly-faced little fellow, whose name was Sammy Smiles,
and whose companions had failed to invent a nickname for him that
fitted as well as his real name--Smiles.

The other boy's name was also Samuel, or the first part of his name was
Samuel; but the cadets declined to have two Sams among the plebes, and
so Samuel Winslow had gradually come to be known as "Poke."

"What's Merriwell up to now?" asked Poke, a look of delighted suspense
on his face. "He's making things rather lively round here lately."

"You bet!" grinned Sammy Smiles. "There's more fun in him than there
is in a barrel of monkeys."

"But what's he up to now?" reiterated Winslow. "Don't keep a fellow in
suspense!"

"He smuggled in a basket of crawfish."

"Well?"

"Well, you don't suppose he got 'em to eat, do you?"

"'Course not. Is he going to make the Dutchman eat them?"

"No, but they may take a few bites out of the Dutchman."

"You don't mean----"

"He's put the crawfish into Dunnerwust's and Mulloy's beds."

"Jeewhiz!"

Poke clapped a hand over his mouth, and looked round hastily. Then he
asked:

"How could he do it? Beds ain't made up till after tattoo, and he
wouldn't have time to----"

"Tattoo sounded fifteen minutes ago. It doesn't take Mulloy more than
two minutes to make up his beds. Hans is slower, but I hustled 'em
both up to-night. I dodged into their room the instant tattoo sounded,
and told 'em Gr