“It certainly was a lucky moment when I ran you down this morning,” Demarest said, as they dropped down in some chairs in the lobby. “I was simply up against a dead wall, and now things seem to be coming around all right, thanks to your advice and suggestions. I really think we’ll be able to make a halfway decent place out of the old barn. Of course it won’t be anything like one of the other houses, but it will be clean.” “And the best part of it is that you will get ahead of the fellows who have tried to keep you under,” Dick said quickly. “It makes me hot under the collar every time I think of the way they’ve tried to keep you down so that they can get the play for themselves. By the way, old fellow, I hope you have a copy of it here. I’m no end anxious to read it.” “And I want you to,” Demarest returned emphatically. “I want your critical opinion of it. I expect there’s a lot of places in it where you can suggest improvements. I’ll give you a copy before you go to-night, and you can read it and let me know what you think of it in the morning.” As he spoke, he picked up a newspaper which lay on the next chair and glanced carelessly down the columns. Suddenly he stiffened and drew a quick breath. “Blazes!” he burst out the next instant. “What’s the matter?” Dick asked quickly. Demarest’s face was set and a little pale. He was evidently keeping a grip on himself only by a great effort. “Look at that!” he cried, extending the paper. “Just look at that, will you? If that isn’t a put-up job, I’d like to know what you’d call it.” Dick snatched the paper from his nervous fingers and bent over the page. As he read the paragraph which the actor had pointed out, his eyes narrowed and a frown appeared on his forehead. “Friday—Arcadian Theatre,” he murmured swiftly, “first production on any stage—John Tennant’s great drama of college life, ‘Fenwick of Yale’—management Ralph Bryton.” “Great Scott!” Merriwell exclaimed, looking up swiftly. “They’re trying to get ahead of you! Trying to cut you out by producing a college play with almost exactly the same name! What a dirty trick!” “Read the rest of it!” Demarest exclaimed angrily. Unable to contain himself, he took the paper from Dick’s hand. “Listen: ‘Great football scene. Nothing like it ever shown on the stage.’ My scene, Merriwell, I’ll wager anything! ‘Tremendously strong third act.’ My third act is the climax of the play! ‘The whole play from start to finish is so true to life, and so filled with the atmosphere of a real college town, that the spectator will find it hard to believe he is not watching a concrete segment taken directly from the life in the greatest university in America. The management has been fortunate in securing the services of the following actors and actresses for this important production.’” Crumpling the paper in a shapeless mass, Demarest tossed it angrily aside.