e
farmer's face relaxed into something very like a smile. "'If you gave
'em permission to come,' says she, 'they wouldn't care about it so much.
It's the temptation that leads 'em,' says she. 'Tell 'em they can come
and they won't want to.' Looks like she was mistaken there, though."

"Who--o?" stammered Sid.

"Why, Harry Emery. That's the way she talked, like a regular book. Said
it was all my fault you boys got in trouble!" He chuckled hoarsely.
"What do you think of that, eh? My fault, by gum! Called me a--a
'perverter of youth,' or somethin' like that, too! Couldn't do nothin'
but give in to her after that! 'Let 'em come and fish once a week,
then,' says I, 'an' as long as they behaves themselves I won't say
anything to 'em.' Well, you ain't had much luck, to be sure, but I guess
you're clustered kind o' close together. Guess what fish you fellers
catch won't hurt much of any!"

[Illustration: "'The way that gal sassed me was a caution!'"]

And Farmer Mercer turned and ambled off, chuckling to himself.

The trespassers looked from one to another; then, with scarcely a word
spoken, they wound up their lines and, with poles trailing, crept
crestfallenly home. And in such fashion ended Sid's "popular protest!"

* * * * *

Meanwhile events marched rapidly. School came to an end the following
Wednesday. In four days, that is on Saturday, came the boat-race, in the
forenoon; and the final baseball game, at three o'clock. Examinations
would end the day before. It was a breathless, exciting week. On the
river the finishing touches were being put to what the school fondly
believed was the finest four-oared crew ever destined to carry the Brown
and White to victory. On the diamond Mr. Cobb and Captain Chub Eaton
were working like beavers with a nine which, at the best, could be
called only fairly good. Tappen at first was doing his level best, but
his best was far below the standard set by Roy. The nine, discouraged at
first by the loss of Roy, was, however, fast regaining its form, and
Chub began to feel again that he had at least a fighting chance.

It was a hard week for Roy, for there was always the hope that Fate
would intervene and deliver him from his durance. But Wednesday came and
Thursday came, and still the crimson sweater, upon the discovery of
which so much hinged, did not turn up. Roy vetoed Chub's plea to be
allowed to rip open Horace's trunk, and Harry's assistance, from