“Well, we’re some popular to-night,” said Gerald. “Come in!” It was Harry Merrow. “Hello, everybody,” he greeted. “What is this? A mass meeting?” Just then his gaze fell on Cotton and his eyes narrowed suddenly, and for some time after he had perched himself beside Gerald on the latter’s bed he continued to observe Cotton curiously across the room. The conversation went on for a minute or two. Then Harry whispered to Gerald, and the latter broke in with: “Cotton, I believe you haven’t met Merrow. He’s in your class, by the way. Sorry; I thought you knew each other.” Harry reached over Girard’s head and shook hands with Cotton. “Glad to know you,” he said. “We’ve met before, though, haven’t we?” “I don’t think so,” replied Cotton. “I’ve only been here this Fall.” “I mean before that,” said Harry. “Your face seems very familiar.” “How about his manner?” asked The Duke innocently. Cotton flushed as he took his seat again. “That’s an old joke,” he said contemptuously. “How dear to my heart are the jokes of my childhood,” chanted The Duke. “When fond recollection presents them to view!” Harry, looking polite and incredulous, sat down again, but every now and then he shot a puzzled glance at Cotton. The latter, however, appeared to have forgotten Harry’s existence after the introduction and steadily kept his eyes away from that youth. Soon after, Merriwell and Girard took their departure, followed later by Kirk and Simms. Cotton stayed on until at last The Duke, giving Gerald a look of despair, said good night. Cotton left with him, and as soon as the door was shut Harry broke out: “I’d give a thousand dollars to know where I’ve seen that fellow!” he declared. “That’s a lot of money,” yawned Gerald. “Not if you say it quick. But honest, fellows, that chap bothers me. I know I’ve met him before and talked with him, but I can’t imagine where it could have been. You remember, Gerald, that day at practice I told you he looked familiar? Well, I was right. There’s――there’s some mystery about Cotton.” “Oh, he probably looks like someone else,” said Gerald soothingly. “Although, to be strictly truthful, Harry, I never saw anyone who looked just like him!” “He knew to-night that I recognized him,” mused Harry, “and he wouldn’t look at me once. Well!” He moved toward the door. “I mean to find out. Good night, fellows!” CHAPTER X THE SPY However, Harry did not at once borrow The Duke’s red mustache and go sleuthing. As curious as he was about Cotton, he was much too busy these days to play detective, for, although he was pretty certain of winning the cross-country race from Broadwood, Gerald wasn’t taking any chances, and the way he and Andy Ryan kept the team on the go was a caution.