He was growling savagely to himself as he worked. There was a strong smell of arnica in the air, while his room was decorated with cigarette stubs and hastily discarded garments. These latter were calculated to be striking in appearance, and they were. When attired in all his glory, Bully Carson, as Billy Mac said, could be heard coming a full mile away. Just at present he was attired only in his underwear, however, and in several bruises. He had been adorning these with arnica, but not with arnica alone, for ranged beside him were all manner of bottles. At intervals of five minutes, Bully would anxiously pick up a hand mirror and examine his injured eye. It was something of a job, since he could only see out of the other one, and he gained little joy from it. “He must ’a’ hit me with a brick!” he muttered vengefully. His mutter mingled with a groan of despair as he took another look at his eye. “Wow! I guess I’ll get my auto and get out o’ town fer a while--this is only gettin’ worse every minute! Yes, sir, that’s what I’ll do, as soon’s Ironton shows up. He’s watchin’ them fellers, and if they get the constable I reckon I’ll have passengers in that car o’ mine.” Bully Carson was disheartened, there was no doubt of that. He was also discolored, and realized the fact thoroughly. He had counted on flashing a particularly flamboyant necktie on the girls the next day, but the colors would not harmonize very well with his eye. And his eye was immense, and growing more so. Bathing only seemed to help it along. He began to dress. Late as the hour was, he was determined to get his car and slink out of town, rather than display his facial adornments to Carsonville’s admiring gaze. He realized just how admiring that gaze would be. Suddenly he paused, at the sound of some one entering the house. He started, then recognized his father’s step ascending the stairs. This was strange, for when Colonel Carson had left for Fardale he had expected to remain over Monday. A moment later the colonel opened the door of his son’s room and stepped in. “Still up, eh?” he said. Then his eyes took in the array of bottles, and he sniffed. “Arnica?” “Arnica,” repeated Bully sullenly, keeping his back to the light. “What have you been doing?” “I been sittin’ on the roof eating scrambled eggs--what’d you suppose?” Being used to Bully’s disrespectful manner, Colonel Carson took no notice. “When I left, you agreed that you would get Merriwell laid out,” he said. “Did you succeed?” “If I had, I wouldn’t be packin’ up,” returned Bully. He moved around until the light struck his face. “See that peeper? Well, I’m goin’ to take that car o’ mine and beat it. I’ll be back in a few days.” “Hold on, son, hold on,” but Colonel Carson could not help smiling, angry though he was. “Do you mean to say that kid licked you?” “Don’t look that way, does it? He had about a dozen fellers hid in a doorway, and they jumped us with clubs. We couldn’t do nothin’.”