hair now as white as snow. He came forward and laid two trembling white hands in those of Dave.
"Dave, my boy Dave!" he murmured, and his watery eyes fairly glistened.
"Yes, Professor, your boy, always your boy!" answered Dave, readily, for he loved the old instructor from the bottom of his heart. "And how is the history getting on?"
"Fairly well, Dave. I have nine chapters finished."
"Good! Some day, when it is finished, I'll find a publisher for you; and then you'll be famous."
"I don't know about that, Dave. But I like to write on the book—and the research work is very pleasant, especially in such pleasant surroundings," murmured the old gentleman.
Mr Wadsworth was away at his office, but presently he came back, and greeted Dave warmly, and asked about the school and his chums. Then, as the girls went off to get ready for dinner, the men folks and Dave went into the library.
"Have you heard anything more of those two young rascals, Merwell and Jasniff?" questioned Mr. Porter.
"Yes, but not in the way I'd like," answered Dave, and told of what Nat Poole had had to
