“Bought in the village,” replied The Duke as he tossed it over. “It makes a perfect disguise, doesn’t it? I’m going to wear it to history recitation to-morrow so Collins won’t know me and won’t ask for my digest, which I have forgotten to prepare.” “I stump you to,” said Simms. “If you will――――” But the rest was lost in the laughter caused by Girard’s appearance with the mustache on. After that they all had to try it, and just as it finally got around to Kendall there was another knock on the door. “Ha!” muttered The Duke. “’Tis he! I am discovered! But I shall sell my life dearly!” There was a moment of silence as the door swung slowly open, and then, as Cotton walked in with fine dignity, a howl of laughter went up. Only The Duke remained grave. Holding a pillow in front of him, he gazed fiercely over the top of it, muttering and hissing. Cotton paused in surprise. Simms was rolling on the bed in convulsions and Girard was sprawled back in his chair, holding his sides. Cotton viewed the scene at first with bewilderment and then with distaste. A flush crept into his cheeks as he closed the door behind him. “Hello,” he said stiffly, “what’s the joke, you fellows?” Kendall was the first to recover. “Oh, just some of Wellington’s nonsense,” he replied hastily. “Sit down, Cotton.” “Y-yes,” gurgled Gerald, “s-sit down somewhere if you can find room. Sit on the bed there next to The Duke.” The Duke lowered the pillow, his gaze fixed on Cotton with fearful intensity. Then, as the latter passed around the table to reach the bed, The Duke seized the false mustache from Kendall, clapped it to his face and confronted Cotton superbly. “Aha, James Mortimer!” he drawled, stroking one end of the brilliant mustache. “So we meet again, do we? What have you done with the che-ild?” Cotton, who had suspected himself to be in some way the subject of the laughter that had greeted him, was restored to equanimity. He joined in the laughter that followed and made himself comfortable on the bed. “Where’d you get that thing?” he asked. “Let’s see how I’d look in it, Duke.” “Heaven forfend!” replied The Duke vehemently as he thrust it into his pocket. “It wouldn’t become you, Charles, it really wouldn’t.” Cotton smiled in the manner of one humoring a child or harmless lunatic and turned to Merriwell. “How’s the team getting on?” he asked. “Fair, thanks,” replied the captain without enthusiasm. “Going to win on Saturday?” “Hope to.” “You’ll have to brace up your line, then. I was reading to-day that Forest Hill has a wonderful attack this year.” “What sort of an attack?” asked The Duke interestedly. “Not mumps, I hope.” “She’s got most of her last year’s team, hasn’t she?” asked Kendall hurriedly. “Blessed if I know,” answered Merriwell. “I guess Payson isn’t much worried about it, though. I do hope we’ll trim Nordham, though, fellows.” “Oh, we’ll run away with her this year,” asserted Girard. There was another knock on the door.