“He has not appeared at the academy to-day, June.” “I know it. He told me he was not going back there to-day.” “Then you saw him?” “Yes. He came to the house near noon. I was surprised to see him. Oh, Dick, I am afraid it is no use. I am afraid Chester may as well leave Fardale.” “Perhaps it would be better for him,” Dick admitted. “But father should know—father should take him in hand. If he goes away of his own accord, as he has threatened, there is no telling what he may do.” “You fear that he is contemplating something of the kind?” “I do. He must be kept here a little longer. Mother expects father to come on in a week or two.” “In your anxiety about your brother, June, you are rashly venturing into a dangerous part of the village. Better wait until morning before seeking him.” “I can’t!” she exclaimed. “I am sure he is again with bad companions. I can’t ask you to do anything more for me.” “But I will do anything for you, June. Let me see you safely home, and then I will try to find your brother.” “Oh! will you?” “I give you my promise.” “Dick! Dick! you have done so many things for me. I am grateful, be sure of that.” “Don’t talk about gratitude, June. Come, let’s turn back.” She permitted him to accompany her until they were again in the vicinity of the post office. There she paused and begged him to leave her and go in search of Chester. This he finally consented to do. Passing once more over the hill, Merriwell came again into the disreputable portion of the village, wondering if Arlington could be found on board his mother’s yacht, and, if so, how he could be approached. Passing one of the cheap saloons of that locality Dick paused, for to his ears came the sound of singing. The voice was a melodious one, and he was sure he recognized it as that of the boy he sought. The song was a reckless drinking melody, and the singer was joined when it came to the chorus by several hoarse voices, roaring as follows: "We’ll send her round again, boys, So drink your bumpers dry; “Whisky was made for men, boys, And men will drink and die!” “He is in there,” muttered Dick, “and it is plain he is carousing with a lot of desperate characters.” Approaching the place, Dick quickly discovered why he had heard the singing so plainly, for a window stood open. He did not enter, but passed round the corner and paused near this window, where he looked into the low, smoky barroom. It was a sailor’s resort, and a number of rough-looking men were inside. Standing in front of the bar, glass in hand, was Chester Arlington, swaying slightly as he sang the second stanza of the drinking song. Again the sailors joined in the chorus, some of them thumping the tables at which they were seated, while Arlington beat time in an extravagant manner. As they finished, Arlington hurled his glass, liquor and all, crashing against the wall.