That evening Dave was on his way to the school library, to consult a
certain work of reference, when he ran into another student who
suddenly grasped him by the shoulder. It was rather dark where the
pair confronted each other, and for the instant our hero did not
recognize the fellow.

"What do you want?"

"I want to speak to you for a minute, Dave Porter," said the other, in
a voice that trembled a trifle.

"Oh, it's you, Nat," answered Dave, as he recognized the son of the
Crumville money-lender. "What do you want?" He rather imagined that
the youth wished to pick another quarrel with him.

"I--I want to talk in private with you," returned Nat, and looked
around, to see if anybody else was near.

"What about?"

"You were out walking this afternoon and met that wild man, so I
heard."

"That is true."

"You tried to catch him, didn't you?"

"Yes, Roger Morr, Buster Beggs, Gus Plum, and I did our best to collar
him, but he was too fast for us. He ran down to the river, got into a
rowboat, and rowed away."

"So I heard. And I heard something else," continued the boy from
Crumville. "When you called to the man to stop he answered back,
didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Will you please tell me what he said?" And Nat's voice had an eager
ring in it.

"He told us to beware and go back, or we'd get into trouble."

"Didn't he say something more than that?"

"Oh, yes, a great deal more."

"He called himself something, didn't he?"

"Yes. Look here, Nat, what is this to you? Why are you so interested?"
queried Dave, for he could easily perceive that the other youth was
more than ordinarily anxious to know the particulars of what had
occurred.

"I--I--want to--er--know, that's all. Did he call himself anything?"

"Yes; he thinks he is the King of Sumatra."

"He called himself that?" asked Nat, with increased excitement.

"Yes, two or three times. But see here, Nat----"

"Will you please tell me how he looked? Was he tall and rather thin?"

"Yes."

"And what kind of hair did he have?"

"Brownish-red, as near as I could make out, and very long. And he had
rather a long beard and a large nose," went on our hero.

At this brief but accurate description of the wild man, Nat Poole
paled a trifle and uttered something of a gasp.

"Whe--where did he go?" he faltered.

"He rowed down the river just as fast as he could. I don't know how
far he went, for the bend hid him from view," answered our hero. "Say,