“Hurrah!” cried Crockett jubilantly. “Billy’s coming back! Say, may I read this to the fellows, Mr. Trayne?” The coach nodded a smiling assent. The news that the backstop was coming back to school after writing that he would not return, was a great relief to him. Crockett flung up the window and read out the message. It was greeted with a storm of frantic cheers. Then he held up his hand for silence, and after a moment the crowd fell quiet. “Three cheers for Captain Chip!” he shouted. Another roar of cheers welled up through the night as the crowd acclaimed this good news. Then the meeting slowly broke. With bitter heart and darkening brow, Bob Randall had heard the message read, and had heard the cheers that followed Crockett’s shout. He slipped away across the campus and toward the barracks, a fierce anger welling up within him. CHAPTER XVI. A WILY PLOTTER. Randall slowly returned home to the barracks. His heart was hot against Chip Merriwell, and hotter yet against the crowd who had acclaimed his rival. “Confounded Yankees!” he muttered. “Whatever did I come to this part of the country for, anyway! Just because I had an uncle livin’ at Carsonville, I reckon. I wish I had stayed down home an’ taken a chance on the Annapolis examinations!” The cool night air calmed down his heated anger a little, and by the time he reached the barracks it had changed into a dull despair. It seemed to him that no one had a chance to rival one of the Merriwells at Fardale. Yet Bob was not a bad sort of fellow at heart. His impulsiveness sometimes led him into hot-headed errors, which he bitterly repented later. He had tried to conquer himself, and to some extent had succeeded. None the less, in this case he had given way to his bitterness without restraint. As he reached the door of the barracks he detected a figure lurking in the shadow to one side. A keen glance showed him that the figure was not in uniform, and was one of the village youths. “Here!” cried Randall sharply. “What are you doing around here?” “I’m lookin’ for Bob Randall,” came the surprising answer. Randall started. “You’re not looking for him, but at him,” he answered. “What’s your business?” The village youth held out a paper. “Here’s a message I was to bring you. And the feller said that you was to keep it under your hat.” Randall took it in some wonder, and the youth darted off. When he reached his room, where his roommate, Harlow Clarke, was busy over his books, Bob opened the paper, and read the message it bore: Come over to Dobb’s Hotel. Must see you and talk with you at once. Don’t let any one know you’re meeting me. YOUR UNCLE. Randall whistled. His uncle! He had had the pleasure of meeting that gentleman on his arrival in the North, and he had not been greatly impressed by Colonel Carson’s rather uncouth accents and hard features. Still, Colonel Carson was his uncle, and had come up from Carsonville to see him, it appeared.