Nat, do you think you know that man?"

"Why--er--know him? Of course I don't know him," was the stammered-out
reply. "But I--I think--maybe--I've met him." And then, to avoid
further questioning, Nat Poole hurried away. Our hero could do nothing
but stare after him.

"That is mighty queer," mused Dave, as he turned into the library to
consult the reference book. "If Nat doesn't know the man, why was he
so anxious? He acted scared to death when I said the fellow called
himself the King of Sumatra."

Dave remained in the school library for a half an hour and then joined
Phil, Roger, and the others in Dormitory Number Twelve. He found the
students discussing a talk Roger had had with Nat Poole only a few
minutes before.

"Nat called me out in the hallway," said the senator's son. "He wanted
to know all about that wild man, and he wanted to make dead certain
that he had called himself the King of Sumatra."

"That is certainly queer--on top of what happened to me," said Dave,
and told of the interview he had had.

"Well, this is a puzzle," declared Phil, slowly. "What do you make of
it, Dave?"

"I think Nat imagines he knows the wild man."

"That's the way it looks to me," added the senator's son.

"Say, you don't suppose that wild man has anything to do with the
fellows Nat used to train with--Jasniff, Merwell, and that crowd?"
questioned Buster.

"It's possible, but I don't think so," returned our hero. "He is
surely a crazy individual, and as nobody around here seems to know
him, he must be a stranger to these parts."

"But what would make Nat so interested?" asked little Chip Macklin.

"Give it up," answered Roger.

"Maybe he has something to tell, but won't tell it to us," ventured
Phil. "He may go right to the doctor."

But if Nat Poole went to the master of Oak Hall, or to anybody else at
that institution, the boys did not hear of it. He asked no more
questions about the wild man, and when any of our friends came near
him he immediately walked away, thus avoiding an interview.

The proposed meeting of the athletic committee of Oak Hall was held on
Saturday afternoon in the gymnasium and was well attended. An even
twenty names had been put up for the regular baseball nine of the
institution. Of these names, fifteen belonged to old students and five
were those of newcomers to Oak Hall. As he had said he would do, Gus
Plum had handed in his name, and so had Sam Day and some of our other
friends. But D