Dick had decided to take no steps in any direction regarding his discovery of the night before. A little delay would do no harm and might be productive of infinite good. The money was safe enough for the present, now that he knew it was there, and while he hustled around getting breakfast ready he kept a keen watch on McCormick. There was no mistaking the fact that Archie had something on his mind. Always light-hearted and prompt to join in with any joshing or bantering give-and-take which might be going on, he seemed decidedly serious as he helped Dick with the breakfast. More than once Merriwell caught him gazing absently out of the window, and once when he spoke to him suddenly the fellow gave a sudden start and the dish he was holding slipped from his hands and crashed in pieces on the floor. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” he said regretfully as he stooped to pick up the pieces. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.” “What was the trouble?” Dick asked carelessly. “Didn’t you feel well?” “Oh, yes, I felt all right. Strange bed, I suppose.” “You didn’t happen to get up, did you?” Merriwell inquired, as he broke an egg into the frying pan. McCormick gave a slight start and darted a keen look at Dick, but the latter’s countenance was as free from guile as that of a child-in-arms. “Did you hear any one?” Archie countered evasively. “I awoke some time during the night and thought I heard some one walking around downstairs,” Dick explained easily. “I did get up and go down,” McCormick said, after a moment’s hesitation. “I was restless and finally got up and took a walk through the rooms down there. It was plagued cold, too, I can tell you.” Merriwell did not ask any more questions. He had given Archie plenty of opportunity to explain what had taken him down to the dining room if the fellow were so inclined, but apparently he did not propose to do any explaining. Despite McCormick’s absent state of mind and Merriwell’s preoccupation, breakfast proved to be a jovial meal. Fitzgerald was quite lively enough to keep things going, and Buckhart and Baxter were good seconds. Even Percy Joblots, now that he was warm again, piped up now and then with some foolish remark which sent them all into roars of laughter, while Jellison seemed to have recovered from his grouch of the night before and was absolutely genial. Neither of the two strangers, however, made any mention of leaving the farmhouse that morning. They could not decently stay there much longer, and Dick rather expected them to announce their departure directly breakfast was over. But they did not. Instead, Jellison took a comfortable seat in front of the fire in the dining room, and, opening a newspaper, which he had brought with him the night before, became instantly absorbed in its contents. Joblots hung around the kitchen while the dishes were being washed, fluttering helplessly about, but really accomplishing nothing.